


Man and Boy

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Architect!Erik, Big Sur, Budapest, Car Accidents, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is 17 so legal for NY but under 18 hence the AO3 warning, Child Abuse, Daydreaming, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Food, Jewelry, M/M, Pizza, Prostitution, Violence, peonies, prostitute!Charles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Erik should know better than to fall for a rent boy.Charles should know better than to fall for a trick.They are both fools . . .





	1. Well met by streetlight

**Author's Note:**

> Dunno where this came from or where it is going, but it demanded to be written.

Erik fucked up into the boy, desperate and relentless. He was on his back and the boy was straddling him, facing his feet, and bouncing up and down on his condom clad cock as Erik thrust up. He could see the lovely line of his spine and arch of his back. His surprisingly strong thigh muscles - the rest of him was so slim - as they bunched to push him up and relaxed as he dropped down. The perfectly round globes of his ass, paler even than his lightly freckled back, rippling as he bounced.

He'd seen him on a street corner. The area his architectural practice was redeveloping was run down. One block was the haunt of rent boys. Erik always did his best to ignore them, even when they importuned him as he waited for the lights to turn green. This boy had drawn his eye due to his beauty; dark hair, pale skin, blue eyes and red lips illuminated by the harsh glow of the street lights. He'd shivered in the autumn air, inadequately dressed in skin tight jeans and a silky cropped top.

Their eyes had met and Erik had been haunted by him from then on. Maybe if his mother hadn't had to have another round of chemo, maybe if he hadn't had to testify yet again at Shaw's parole hearing, maybe if Magda hadn't been talking about taking the kids to Europe, he wouldn't have been tempted to reach for something, anything to stop the rat in his skull.

As it was, Erik had found himself pulling the BMW over and gesturing the boy to get in. He looked very young and very small sitting on the black leather seat. He stank of cigarette smoke, unwashed clothes, unwashed body and sex.

"How old are you?"

The boy rolled his eyes.

"Legal for New York," he said, street accent overlaying something much more cultured.

So Erik had taken him to a scuzzy hotel and fucked him into the mattress, trying to believe him and not think of him as sixteen or fifteen or even fourteen. And it had been a revelation, his slender, flexible body and the obscene noises he had made. Erik had come back night after night. It had been more than a month now and he still didn't know the kid's name.

He reached round and grabbed the boy's prick. He was hard and leaking. He stroked him in time to his thrusts. The boy turned his head to one side, giving Erik a glimpse of his lovely profile, hawkish nose and all, and made a thin, high noise that drove Erik mad. He tightened his grip on the boy's cock, stroked him faster and increased his assault on his ass.

"Erik, Erik, Erik," he cried, more a sob than words.

He clenched his perfect ass on Erik's cock like a vice and spilled over Erik's fingers as Erik convulsed and spilled inside him. The boy fell back so he was lying back to chest on Erik. His limbs sprawled helplessly and his chest heaved. Erik wrapped his arms and legs round him and hugged him tight. His breathing slowed and he let out a long sigh. Fuck, Erik could stay like this forever, cock up the ass of a rent boy in this disgusting hotel room. He swung him carefully over so they were big spoon and little spoon, Erik being the big one. He allowed himself a few more moments of inexplicable peace, then pulled out, keeping a careful hold of the condom. He tossed it in the bin by the bed and pressed up against the boy.

The kid felt so warm, so alive, blood pumping through his veins, pulse strong, heartbeat a powerful rhythm. Erik always felt a weird post-coital fondness for the kid, which was ridiculous. It was his job. Erik was paying him. There was zero affection involved.

"Mmm, that was nice," mumbled the boy.

"Was it?"

"Yes. You don't hurt me and you make sure I come. Niiiiice."

Jesus, not being hurt and having his cock stroked and that was enough to make it good for him. Poor little fucker. The kid turned over to face him. He was startlingly pretty close up. His huge, cornflower eyes and plump, cherry lips were perhaps his best features. His nose was too big and a bit lumpy, but Erik had taken rather a shine to the two freckles on the bridge.

"I wish I could stay here all night," said the boy.

"I was just thinking the same thing," said Erik, "despite the numerous parasites that are no doubt feasting on my flesh at this very moment."

The kid giggled and, fuck, that was erotic.

"I hope you don't consider me a parasite," he said, rounded vowels fighting their way past harsh street speak.

He smiled like an angel. God, he looked indescribably innocent sometimes.

"No, we have a symbiotic relationship, I get sex and you get cash."

As soon as he'd said it he wished he hadn't. The innocent look was replaced by a calculating one.

"Talking of cash," said the boy, sitting up.

Erik grabbed his jacket and got out his wallet. He pressed the notes, with a big tip, into the boy's hands.

"Thank you, darling," he said, giving Erik his flirty-for-the-trick smile.

He clambered off the bed and pulled his scarlet top over his head. He hauled up his jeans - no underwear - and shoved his grubby feet - no socks - into his scuffed pixie boots.

"Erik, my name's Erik."

The kid looked at him.

"Thank you, Erik," he said, a smaller and more genuine smile on his face.

They went downstairs together to be leered at by the desk clerk.

"See you around," said the boy and trotted off down the street.

Erik didn't watch him walk away and he didn't think of him when he was alone in his pristine apartment, but it took quite an effort of will.

* * *

Charles damn near skipped back to the shitty apartment he shared with Janos. Erik was always generous. He wouldn't need to turn anymore tricks tonight. He didn't just like Erik because he paid well. Sometimes he was rough, but he was never cruel and sometimes he was gentle. He always made sure Charles came. And every now and then Charles caught a look on his face like Charles wasn't just a filthy little whore, like he was a person.

Occasionally, when they were fucking, Charles indulged in the fantasy that Erik was his boyfriend, that they lived together and went food-shopping on Saturdays and Charles kissed him goodbye every morning when he went to work, then went off to college himself. They had a black lab called "Choccie" and visited Erik's family for lunch on Sundays.

He actively suppressed such daydreams as that kind of thing made a boy wish for what he could be never have and end up getting hurt.

No, best just to enjoy the extra cash and a client he actually enjoyed having sex with and forget about the rest.

He pushed open the apartment door. Janos was clattering around in the kitchen.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," he called.


	2. A cracking good time

Erik had had a shocking week. His testimony at Shaw's parole hearing was looming. His mama had resumed chemo. And he'd had a long and unproductive conversation (argument) with Magda about taking the kids to Europe.

"It'll be three years, maximum. You can Skype and visit and they can come over in the holidays."

"Three years? Three years! We'll be complete strangers in three years."

Things had escalated into a shouting match and Magda had ended up threatening to call the police if he didn't get out of her house. The house he had bought and paid for. The worst thing was he was pretty sure the twins had heard every word.

He felt the need to punish someone. He couldn't punish Magda. She was the mother of his kids and whatever he might say in the heat of the moment she was a damn good mother and they had loved each other once. He couldn't take it out on his mother, not with the state she was in, besides, he was incapable of raging at her. He couldn't punish Shaw. He was locked up in prison, supposedly already being punished, though they seemed like they wanted to let the bastard out. He couldn't punish his staff, that would have been hideously unprofessional. Getting into fights with strangers was unpredictable and likely to end in jail. Then he thought of the boy. The rent boy.

He drove over to the street where the boys hung out. He spotted him straight away, shivering in the drizzle, hair plastered to his head, thin tee-shirt sticking to his torso. As soon as he saw Erik a smile blossomed on his face. Not the flirty, filthy smile he often deployed, but something innocent and joyful. It morphed into his professional grin as soon as he got in the car.

"Hello, darling. I was hoping you'd turn up. Things are slow. It's the weather."

"What's your name? You know mine, it's only fair I know yours."

"Charles."

It sounded ridiculously posh the way he said it, cultured voice emerging from his usual street speech.

"Charles," repeated Erik.

It rolled off the tongue very nicely. A lot of other things would roll off the tongue very nicely.

He drove them to their usual scuzzy hotel and paid the scuzzy desk clerk. As soon as they got in the room Charles hurled himself on the bed and bounced like a little kid. Fuck, he looked young. Not for the first time Erik prayed he wasn't lying about his age.

"So, what do you fancy, Erik? My hand? My mouth? My arse? All three?"

Erik hesitated.

"Don't be shy, love. Trust me, I've heard and done it all before."

"I'd like to spank you."

Charles grinned.

"Ooo, you dangerous thing, you. I charge a bit extra for spanking, more for whipping and the more cuts and bruises you leave, the more cash I'll want."

"I won't leave any cuts or bruises," said Erik, trying not to feel shocked, "and I don't want to hit you with anything but my hand."

"No probs, love. How do you want me?"

How did he want him? Over his knee? No, that brought back bad memories.

"Take off your jeans and lie face down on the bed."

Charles obeyed, wriggling out of his jeans in a way that made Erik stiffen in his pants. Erik walked over to the bed and gazed down at him. There was something erotic about the fact that he still had his damp tee-shirt on. His buttocks peeked out from under the hem, round and firm and pale and enticing. Erik drew his fingers over those smooth cheeks. Lovely. He climbed onto the bed and straddled Charles' thighs. He prodded one cheek with his forefiinger, admiring the way the flesh dimpled under the pressure.

"I've been told it's my best feature, that and my mouth."

"No," said Erik, without even thinking about it, "it's your eyes. You have exceptionally beautiful eyes."

Charles twisted his head to one side and fixed those exceptional eyes on him.

"That's . . . that's a nice thing to say."

His voice was soft. He smiled. Erik smiled back.

"This is an odd way to begin a spanking. Don't you want me to say stuff about being a naughty boy and needing to be punished?"

"I don't know, give it a try."

Charles leaned to the side. His eyes widened. He pouted his obscenely red lips.

"I've been bad, Erik. I'm afraid to tell you what I've done because I know you'll be angry."

It was cliched and ridiculous, but somehow it worked. Erik gave one buttock a gentle slap. Charles made a distressed noise.

"Tell me what you've done."

"I . . . I slept with other men."

He sounded genuinely scared. Fuck, he was good. Erik gave the other buttock a slightly harder smack. He moaned, his ass jiggled and his ivory skin reddened a little under Erik's hand. Erik's cock was decidedly interested now.

"Tell me exactly want you did."

"I let them do things to me."

Erik gave each cheek a stinging smack. Charles yelped. God, the way the blow rippled through his flesh. The feel of his skin under Erik's palm; hot satin. The colour that surged up; the most beautiful deep rose.

"I touched their cocks."

Two more slaps.

"And?"

"I let them put their cocks in my mouth."

Four slaps. Good hard ones that made Charles' buttocks quiver and go from rose to scarlet. He sobbed and his beautiful eyes filled with tears.

"And?"

"I let them put their cocks up my arse."

Fuck, "arse" sounded so much dirtier than "ass", particularly in Charles' hybrid English/American accent.

Erik slapped his ass, no, his arse six times, bringing his hand right back and swinging his arm with some force. His fingers were stinging. God knows what Charles' buttocks felt like. They were dark red and searingly hot. He sobbed "Erik" on every stroke and the tears spilled down his cheeks. He was a lovely cryer. No red eyes and snotty nose. No, just crystal tears and tragic looks.

Erik transferred his attention to the backs of his thighs, reddening them with blows from the curve of his buttocks to the backs of his knees.

"I bet you loved it, didn't you? Sucking off all those guys? Having their come dribble out your ass?"

"No, no," Charles wept. "All the time I wished it was you, I wished they were you."

Something tightened in Erik's chest. He so wanted it to be true. So wanted Charles to want him the way he wanted Charles. He knew it was a lie, but he allowed himself to believe it.

"Do you want me now?"

"Yes, yes," gasped Charles, "want you so much, only you, Erik, only you."

Erik leant down and kissed the side of his mouth, then his eyelids, then licked the salty tears from his cheeks. He got the tube of lube from his jacket pocket, coated two fingers and eased them into Charles, who let out a long, harsh breath. He prepped him as quickly as he could without skimping, adding another finger and making sure to target his prostate. He reached under him to check. Yes, he was hard.

Charles rutted into his hand, hot and leaking. Erik withdrew his fingers. Charles wailed.

"Oh, please, Erik, please."

Erik kissed his flushed face, then his even more flushed ass. He laved the hot skin with his tongue.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you."

He rolled on a condom and lubed up his cock. He dragged the pillows under Charles' hips, parted his cheeks and pressed in nice and slow. Charles moaned, long and loud. Erik rolled his hips, easing in and out of his clenching hole. Every time his hips hit Charles' tender ass he gave a little scream. Erik upped the pace and reached under him for his cock. He stroked him in time with his thrusts. They were both close. Erik pushed a finger in alongside his cock. His insides felt like living velvet. He massaged Charles' prostate with his finger, prodded it with his prick and scraped his thumbnail over his slit. Charles screamed and came. His rectal muscles spasmed and Erik came too.

He collapsed on top of Charles, unable to breathe, unable to think. The peace he found so hard to achieve in the rest of his life descended on him. After a while Charles shifted under him. Erik rolled off him, keeping a careful grip on the condom and tossing it into the bin.

"I'm sorry, I'm must have been squashing you."

Charles gave him a lazy smile. "A little."

"Are you alright?"

Charles grinned. "Oh, I'm more than alright. I haven't come that hard for ages."

He was lying no doubt, but Erik couldn't suppress a flicker of pride.

"I meant your ass."

"Oh, that's stinging like fuck, but it'll ease off soon. I've had much worse."

He looked Erik up and down and started giggling.

"What?"

"You do realise you're fully dressed, don't you? Jacket, tie, pants, everything? Oh my god, Erik, you're . . . you're still wearing your shoes!"

"Fuck, I am, aren't I?"

They both started laughing. They laughed till they cried. Eventually they regained their composure and lay there grinning at each other like idiots.

"I guess you'd better get back to your beat."

As soon as he'd said it, Erik regretted it. Something seemed to close down in Charles' face. He sat up, winced at the pressure on his ass and pulled his jeans and boots on.

"Yep, can't laze around here all day. Got something you want to give me, darling?"

For a moment Erik was confused.

"Oh, yes, your money. Is that enough?"

"Generous as always."

Erik cleaned up and zipped up.

"Want me to drive you back?"

"No thanks, love, the walk will do me good. Bye. See you soon."

"Bye, Charles," Erik called after him as he flitted down the stairs.

Charles didn't look back. Erik stood in the doorway gazing down the grimy, poorly lit stairwell. Charles was a whore, a rent boy, a prostitute. Street trash. Scum of the earth. So why did Erik feel so bereft every time they said goodbye?

* * *

Charles didn't go back to his beat. Thanks to Erik's generosity he could call it a night. He stopped in at a cafe on the way home and bought himself a chai latte as a treat. The barista gave him some vicious side-eye, so he responded with his sweetest smile. She muttered under her breath. Charles thanked her in his poshest accent. He plonked himself down on a chair and nearly screamed out loud. He'd forgotten his spanking. He smiled to himself. Erik had done a great job. Not too hard, not too soft, just right.

"Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears," he thought and giggled, drawing the unfriendly eye of the barista.

He blew her a kiss and she turned away in disgust. His thoughts turned to Erik again. He really knew how to show a boy a good time. A lot of his clients couldn't care less if he came. Some of them wanted him to come, but were so incompetent it was a real effort. Not Erik though. He gave himself a mental shake. Erik was a trick, no more, no less. Yes, he was a great fuck and generous and funny and, given his hard features, surprisingly kind, but he was just a trick.

Charles repeated this litany all the way home.


	3. Monday in the park with Charles

Erik felt sick to his stomach as he waited to testify before the parole board. He was terrified he'd see Shaw, even though the clerk had assured him the bastard would be in a separate waiting area. Part of him wanted to confront Shaw and kick him in the balls and stamp his smug face to a bloody pulp. Part of him feared he'd revert to helpless victimhood if he encountered the douche bag.

The clerk called him in. He sat down in front of the board members, who welcomed him and explained the process. He didn't take in a single word of it. He wondered if his appearance would count against him. If they'd look at him - his broad shoulders, his height, his strong jaw, his hard features - and think, "Him? Victim? I don't think so."

The chair asked for his testimony. He tried to look them in the face as he recounted his pathetic story. Eighteen year old Erik, tall and handsome, awkward and shy, hiding his social ineptitude with a mask of arrogance. Shaw, more than twice his age, charming, full of praise, offering to initiate him into the mysteries of academe and sex. Shaw had been controlling from the start and soon control had turned into psychological abuse. Shaw had ordered every aspect of his life; his studies, clothes, friends (not that he had any), where he went, what he did, everything, even what he ate. Then the violence had begun and Erik had worn long sleeved shirts in the summer to hide the bruises. The violence turned sexual and Erik limped round campus, fobbing off concerned enquiries with tales of running mishaps and climbing accidents.

Erik hadn't got away. Shaw had got tired of him. At first Erik had been devastated to be so abruptly dropped. Then he'd felt an extraordinary lightening of his spirits and started to realise what Shaw had done to him. He was in his third year and Shaw wasn't one of his professors anymore so he'd been able to avoid him, graduate and move on.

He'd been married to Magda and the father of twin toddlers when he'd caught an article about a sixteen year old student genius who'd committed suicide. His old college. A quote from Professor Shaw saying how tragic it was, how closely he'd mentored the poor boy, how mentally fragile the young man had been. Erik told Magda everything and told her he wanted to act. She'd backed him all the way. He went to the university authorities. He went to the police. The consensus was he had no evidence and he'd left it too late. He tracked down Shaw's students, current and former, the ones who were Shaw's type; tall, handsome young men, outwardly confident, inwardly insecure. At first all of them had nothing but praise for Professor Shaw, then one of them broke down and told Erik a story he knew all too well.

One became two, became five. They hired a lawyer. They went back to the university and the police, who, reluctantly, took action. More young men came forward, including Shaw's current project, another sixteen year old. After more witness statements than Erik could count, after delays and court appearances and appeals, Shaw was found guilty and sentenced. They were lucky with the judge and with the climate of the times - widespread public revulsion about revelations of institutional abuse - and Shaw got the maximum tariff.

Of course the fucker was a model prisoner and came up for parole halfway through his sentence, which was why Erik was here today. He concluded his statement, managing to maintain control throughout, the chair thanked him and he left, having a quick encouraging word with another of Shaw's survivors on the way out. As he drove home he wondered if it would have been better if he'd broken down and sobbed. People seemed to demand external evidence of trauma nowadays.

He spent the weekend with his mother. She didn't seem to be suffering as many side effects from the chemo as she had first time around. She was weak, but cheerful, and bullied him into tidying up the garden and doing some odd jobs round the house. He told her about the parole hearing. She praised him and said:

"You should treat yourself, Erik, buy yourself something nice, do something you really enjoy."

"I promise I will, mama."

The something nice that he really enjoyed was Charles.

He agonised that he was following in Shaw's footsteps with Charles. Except everything was out in the open between them. He wanted sex. Charles wanted money. He always made sure Charles came. He tried to treat him like a person, not an object. It was sobering to realise that he treated a rent boy much better than Shaw had ever treated him.

He picked Charles up after work on Monday. He felt as though a burden had been lifted. He felt wild and reckless.

As Charles got into the car, he leant towards Erik and for a second he thought Charles was going to kiss him. At the last moment he bent down and adjusted his boots. Of course he hadn't been going to kiss Erik. What a sentimental fool he was.

"Hello, love. You look cheerful."

"I am cheerful," said Erik. "Have . . . have you ever had sex outside?"

"Lots of times," was the blasé reply.

"I haven't. Do you know someplace we could go?"

Charles grinned. "I certainly do. To the park, James, and don't spare the horses."

"Do you think you're in some Regency bodice-ripper or something?"

"You mean you're not Mr Darcy?"

Erik snorted. "If I am, that makes you Elizabeth Bennet."

"I think I'd make a lovely Lizzie."

"More like Lydia."

Charles made an outraged noise and smacked Erik's arm.

"How dare you, sir. I shall be obliged to strike you with my fan if you persist in your insulting behaviour."

Erik shouted with laughter.

"Strike me with your fanny you mean."

Charles burst out laughing.

"Wrong book. Fanny's the heroine in Mansfield Park. Ah, here we are."

Erik pulled up. Charles led him into the park. They headed for a secluded, wooded spot. As they walked Erik admired Charles' ass in his too tight jeans and contemplated the surreal fact that he'd just had a conversation about Jane Austen's novels with a rent boy. Charles led him down a small overgrown path he'd never have noticed if he'd been on his own.

"This is where a lot of hook-ups happen, professional and amateur. The police do a sweep every now and then. They just did one the other day, so we're quite safe. We might be watched, though. A fair old bit of voyeurism goes on here. Are you OK with that?"

Erik nodded. He was more than OK, he was turned on by the thought of being watched, while simultaneously disgusted.

"You just stand there," he said. "I'll pretend to be a stranger."

Charles smiled and leant his shoulders against a tree, angled his hips to emphasise his crotch and tucked his thumbs into his waistband so his fingers were pointing at his groin.

Erik went back down the path and circled round so he was coming at Charles from behind. He crept up to him, grabbed his shoulder and growled:

"You're under arrest."

Charles jumped and turned with a genuinely scared look on his face. Erik felt a twinge of guilt. Understanding dawned in Charles' eyes.

"What for, officer?"

"Prostitution."

"What? But I'm just enjoying the park."

Charles deployed his huge, innocent, frightened eyes. God, Erik loved his eyes.

"It's raining." It was. "It's almost dark." It was. "This is a known haunt of rent boys and you're dressed like crack whore Barbie."

Charles clung to him and put on a desperate look. He should have been an actor.

"Please don't arrest me, officer. It'd be my third strike. I'd be locked up for years. You know what they'd do to a boy like me in prison. Please, please let me go."

He was heartrending. Erik forced himself to sound callous and uncaring.

"Not my problem."

"Please, please, I'll do anything."

One small hand crept up to the back of Erik's neck. The other slid down his chest and belly to hover over his crotch. Erik grabbed the hand at his groin.

"Are you trying to buy me off with sex?"

"Yes," said Charles in a tiny voice.

"I should lock you up and throw away the key, except . . . you are very pretty. Your mouth in particular. I bet you know exactly what to do with that mouth, don't you?"

Charles gave him a tremulous smile.

"Why don't you let me show you?"

"OK, but it'd better be good or I'm hauling you in."

Charles sank to his knees on the damp ground. He unzipped Erik and freed his half hard cock. He ran cold fingers up and down Erik's length, then leant forwards and kissed the head. He kissed all around the glans and down the vein on the underside. He got a condom out of his pocket and put it on Erik by taking it in his mouth then sliding it over Erik's cock. Deeper and deeper he took him. Fucking hell, surely he couldn't take it all? Charles kept taking him down, unrolling the condom as he went, until his nose brushed Erik's pubes and his lips were stretched around the base of Erik's cock.

Erik gave a shivery moan. No one had ever managed to deep throat him before, he was too big, but Charles had done it like it was nothing. He looked up at Erik with those killer eyes and swallowed. Erik could feel the movement of his throat muscles on his dick. He gasped. Charles pulled off and sucked the head of his cock through the condom. He licked and flickered his tongue, all the time keeping his eyes fixed on Erik's face. Erik was one hundred percent certain he looked absolutely wrecked.

He was painfully hard. Charles took him all the way down again, then pulled off, then took him down, them pulled off, rinse, repeat. Erik struggled to stop himself thrusting into the wet warmth of Charles' mouth. Charles pulled off.

"Fuck my face, officer, fuck my face. You know you want to."

His voice was rough from deep throating. His red lips shone with spit. His blue eyes gleamed in the twilight. Erik fucked his face. Charles grabbed his hips and urged him on. Erik put one hand to Charles' cheek to feel the slide of his cock in his mouth and twisted the other into his dark hair. He was close, so close. Tears tracked down Charles' face. Erik's gaze flicked from Charles' streaming eyes to his condom clad cock sliding between those obscene lips. Charles swallowed and hummed and squeezed Erik's balls and Erik shot his load with a shout. He clung to Charles' shoulders to avoid falling over. He leant against the tree, heart pumping nineteen to the dozen, gasping for breath.

Charles pulled away and took the condom off. He tied a knot in the end and dangled it from his fingers, looking unsure.

"You'd better not drop that or I'll arrest you for littering."

"I had no intention of dropping it," said Charles with great dignity in a decidedly scratchy voice. "I was just wondering where to put it."

"Jeans pocket."

"Too tight."

Erik sighed.

"Give it to me."

He put it in his coat pocket and hauled Charles to his feet. A flicker of movement caught his eye. A guy was standing in the shadow of the trees, watching them. He was frantically jerking off. As Erik watched, he came. Charles giggled.

"Are you going to do him up the ass? Can I watch? Can I join in?" asked the guy.

"Fuck off or I'll arrest you," yelled Erik.

The guy beat a hasty retreat. The thought of him watching them was disturbing and arousing. Erik cleaned himself off with some tissues and zipped up.

"You do know you're not really a cop?" rasped Charles.

Erik grabbed him and ruffled him and tickled him. Charles squealed.

"Police brutality!"

Erik held him close and rubbed his fingers over Charles' denim covered crotch. He had a semi. Erik popped him out of his jeans, spat in his hand and stroked him firm and sure. He teased his balls with his fingernails and massaged his perineum.

"This brutal enough for you?"

"Oh, yes, Erik, yes."

Erik rubbed circles on his back and kissed his hair, damp with rain, and kissed his brow, salty with sweat, and brought him off with long, slow strokes followed by short, quick ones. Charles came with a sigh. Erik hugged and petted him. His Charles. Except, of course, Charles wasn't his, he was anyone's. Erik wiped his hand on yet more tissues and offered some to Charles, who smilingly shook his head and zipped up over his come covered cock. Erik found this dirty-bad and dirty-good.

The rain was getting heavier. The trees provided some shelter, but not enough. Erik wasn't too badly off as he had a decent coat. Charles just had a thin jacket.

"You're getting soaked," said Erik. He put his hand to Charles' cheek. "You're cold too. Let's go get a coffee and warm up."

Charles stared at him as though he'd just suggested the most vile sexual act ever. Had Erik crossed some kind of boundary, asking him for coffee? He'd said it entirely unthinkingly, just wanting to get him warm and dry. He was about to apologise when Charles said:

"That would be nice. A coffee would be nice."

He looked almost shy. Erik felt a swell of warmth despite the dark and the rain. No doubt it was the thought of coffee.

* * *

Erik drove them to a coffee shop which stayed open late. It was smart and in a smart part of town. Charles felt out of place. Once he'd have belonged somewhere like this. Not anymore. It was warm and bright after the autumnal darkness and damp.

"What would you like?" asked Erik.

"A hot chocolate with all the extras."

Erik smiled. He had nice smile. It was a bit toothy, but Charles liked it.

"Your wish is my command."

Charles went to the restroom while Erik got their drinks. He flipped the blower on the hand dryer and let it blast his face and hair. When he emerged his hair was standing on end, but at least it was dry. Erik was sitting on a big, squashy sofa. He looked up as Charles exited the restroom. Fuck, Charles couldn't remember the last time someone had looked so pleased to see him.

Charles sat down beside him. His hot chocolate was topped with whipped cream, marshmallows, chocolate drops, cookie crumbles, fudge sauce, butterscotch sauce and praline pieces. He started laughing.

Erik grinned. "Well, you did say you wanted all the extras."

"And I certainly got them."

They chatted as Charles worked his way through his hot chocolate. They talked about the weather, the latest political insanities, reality TV - Charles was a bit of an addict, Erik, who didn't watch much TV anyway, switched off the instant a Kardashian appeared on the screen - and social media - Erik anti, except for business use, Charles pro, with reservations.

It was all so normal. And Erik was so handsome. He was by far the handsomest man in the coffee shop. Charles was pretty sure he was the handsomest man in the city. Erik went to get himself another espresso. He came back with his drink and a huge white chocolate and raspberry cookie for Charles.

"Just in case the extras weren't extra enough," he said, lips curling in an affectionate grin, eyes crinkling with fond amusement.

Charles leapt to his feet.

"I've got to go."

Erik's smile faded.

"Oh, OK, I'll drive you back."

"No, it's fine, I'll make my own way."

"But it's dark and raining. You've only just got dry and warm. It's no trouble."

"No!" yelled Charles.

Everybody stared. Erik looked hurt. Then the hurt was replaced by a cool, neutral expression.

"Fine. Goodnight."

He sat down and sipped at his espresso, face and body turned away from Charles.

Charles bolted from the coffee shop. He ran and walked and ran and walked, stumbling and gasping for breath. He could have got a bus or taken the subway, but it never occurred to him. All he could think of was the way Erik had smiled at him when he'd held out that fucking cookie, like Charles was someone special, someone he was fond of.

He was soaked and shivering by the time he got home, water dripping from his hair and clothes. Janos tutted and shoved him into the tiny, grubby bathroom. Charles showered and dried off and put on his pink, fluffy bathrobe. He wandered into the lounge. Janos took one look at his face, sat him in the sofa, sat down beside him, wrapped his arms round him and said:

"Talk."

"I've fallen in love with a trick," said Charles, and burst into tears.


	4. Janos is a good friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Erik/Charles, just Charles and Janos backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is Spanish in this chapter. My language skills are about on a par with my cage fighting abilities. Please, if you spot a mistake, let me know. Thank you :)

**Two years ago**

Charles was getting the shit kicked out of him. He'd been beaten up before so he knew to curl up into a ball and wrap his arms around his head. He wasn't too proud to scream and beg and plead either; sometimes they stopped if they thought they'd hurt you enough. Sometimes they didn't.

The two boys giving him a kicking had objected to him working their beat. He'd apologised and tried to leave but they'd thought he needed to be taught a lesson. The kicking didn't seem to be easing up. Then one of them stamped on his head and he knew he was in real trouble. It was surprisingly easy to kill someone that way. Another boot to the skull. Fuck, that hurt. Dazed, he tried to struggle to his feet and attempt to fight. They knocked him down. Then there was a lot of yelling and the kicking stopped.

Cautiously, Charles peered over the sheltering curve of his arm. A tall man was laying into his assailants and he seemed to be winning. He chased them off with what sounded like swearing in Spanish. He turned to Charles, who cowered away. The man held out his hand, offering to help Charles up. He hesitated, then took it and was pulled to his feet. The guy was a lot taller than him, in his twenties maybe and exceptionally good looking. He couldn't take in much more as his head was pounding and he felt sick and everything hurt. Everything really, really hurt.

Charles swayed and would have fallen if the guy hadn't kept a tight grip on his arm. The man was saying something but Charles couldn't make any sense of it.

"Thank you, thank you, I'm fine, I'm fine," he kept repeating, then threw up a little on the guy's shoes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, and after you saved me too, so, so sorry."

The man started half leading and half carrying him somewhere. Charles clung onto him for grim death. The world whirled around him but he managed not to throw up again. After what seemed like a long time the man was helping him into a building. They were in an elevator, then a corridor, then an apartment, then Charles was lying on a soft bed and it was so comfortable for his poor, aching body that he could feel himself drifting off.

"So sorry, terrible bad manners, sorry, sorry, solly," he slurred before blessed blackness fell.

Charles opened his eyes.

That didn't look like his ceiling. His ceiling was covered in peeling paint, water stains and patches where the plaster had fallen off. He was squatting in a semi-derelict building with a bunch of other runaways, addicts and homeless people. This ceiling was white and smooth and clean. Like the bed linen covering him. He pressed his nose to the sheet and inhaled deeply. Mmm. Clean and fresh. He sat up.

Every inch of his body protested this move and his head swam. He closed his eyes until things settled down then opened them again. The room was small, pretty much filled by the double bed, bedside cabinet and a small wardrobe. The cabinet looked new but cheap. The wardrobe looked old but well cared for. It was clean and tidy, no clothes or bits and pieces lying about the place. There was a glass of water on the bedside cabinet. He drank it. It tasted unreasonably delicious. Charles pushed back the bedclothes, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He immediately sat down again because it hurt. Someone had stripped him to tee and briefs.

They'd been beating him up. Some guy had rescued him. This must be his apartment. Charles stood up again, carefully this time. Things still hurt but he stayed upright. He worked his way to the door, sliding along the wall for support. He pushed it open. There was a small sitting room on the other side. All pale colours. Everything neat and clean. There was a tiny kitchen along the far wall. Every surface gleamed.

The guy who'd saved him was standing looking out of the window and talking on his phone in Spanish. Charles shuffled forward. The man looked up, said something that sounded like a goodbye and walked over to Charles.

"You should not be up. You must rest. Sit down."

His English was excellent, with only the faintest accent. He escorted Charles to the sofa.

"How is your head?"

"It hurts but not as much as before."

"And the rest of you?"

"Aches. A lot."

"I have painkillers but they are better on a full stomach. Are you hungry?"

At that moment Charles' stomach let out a fearsome growl.

The guy smiled.

"I have soup. You will eat it."

He went to the kitchen and got a bowl out of the fridge, emptied the contents into a pan and turned the heat on low. As he stirred it and added some seasoning, Charles covertly observed him. Even in scruffy jeans and an old tee he was stunning; over six foot, with a slim, athletic build, olive skin, full lips, straight nose and large, dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes and framed by elegant brows. His hair though. Charles had never seen such amazing hair. Thick, just a shade off black, glossy, skimming his shoulders in a cascade of perfectly feathered waves.

He took the soup off the stove, poured it into a bowl, dug out a spoon from a drawer, put them on a tray and brought the tray over to Charles.

"Eat."

Charles ate. The soup was delicious, with chicken and potato and corn and all sorts of subtle spices and flavourings. He finished it and would have licked the bowl if he'd been on his own.

The man took the tray to the kitchen and came back with Tylenol and water. Charles swallowed the pills. The man sat next to him on the sofa, not touching.

"I am Janos."

"Charles. Thank you for saving me."

"Thanks are not necessary. You were selling yourself I think?"

Charles blushed. He'd been selling himself for a couple of months now but it was oddly embarrassing to hear it spoken aloud. He nodded.

"You are too young."

"I'm seventeen," lied Charles.

Janos rolled his eyes.

"I am not a fool and you are not seventeen. The streets are not a good place for anyone, especially one so young."

"At least it's my choice, at least I'm getting paid for it," he snapped.

Janos gazed at him with those deep, dark eyes.

"Hmm. I think you cannot go home?"

Charles shook his head violently.

"Where are you living?"

"That old building over on Fifth and Lyme."

"Madre de Dios. They are bad people there. You must not stay."

Charles shrugged. "Nowhere else to go."

Janos looked at him consideringly.

"You can stay here. Not for long. A few days. And there are rules. No drink, no drugs, no men and no mess. Understand?"

Charles nodded.

"I will have my room back and you will sleep on the sofa. You are only un pequeño. You will fit."

"Thank you. Is there anything I can do to pay you back?"

Charles put on his best flirty-dirty smile, placed his hand on Janos' knee and slid it up to his crotch.

Janos sighed and brushed his hand away.

"I do not fuck boys, only men. Now rest some more. Go on, close your eyes and rest."

Slightly stunned, Charles did as he was told.

A month later he was still there. Janos ran a tight ship. When Janos got up, Charles got up and had to put away his bed linen and plump up the sofa. Dishes were washed and dried and put away immediately after use. Charles had to shower every morning - extremely quickly or the hot water ran out. He had to wash his clothes twice a week in the tiny washer-dryer (he'd picked up his few belongings from his hiding place in the squat). The dryer was too expensive to run so he had to hang his clothes on a fold up thing that lived behind the door. Then there was dusting and hoovering. The one thing he didn't do was help with the cooking. Janos had watched him attempt to chop a tomato, sworn volubly in a mix of Spanish and English and forbidden him to touch anything in the kitchen ever again.

Charles was still working the streets, to Janos' evident disapproval. Despite his disapproval, he'd pointed Charles at a safer area and had a word with the boys who worked it. They'd agreed to let Charles onto their patch and he'd even made a couple of friends. Charles wanted to pay his way with Janos, so he'd leave money on the kitchen counter and next time he looked it would be gone and neither of them ever said anything about it.

One evening they were slouched on the sofa - well, Charles was slouched, Janos was gracefully reclining - watching one of the telenovelas Janos loved.

"Janos."

"Mmm."

"You know you said you slept with men?"

"Mmm."

"Is that your, er, job?"

Janos disappeared in the evenings and didn't get back until late, dishevelled and smelling of sex. The first time he'd left Charles in the apartment on his own he'd said: "You break anything, you steal anything, I will make the beating those boys gave you look like love taps."

Janos sighed; he was an exceptionally expressive sigher.

"If you let me watch my tv in peace I will answer you. Now be quiet."

Charles waited patiently. The programme closed with Maria's revelation that she was pregnant by Jorge. Janos exclaimed over this, then sighed again and turned to Charles.

"So, yes, I make my living sleeping with men. I rent an apartment in a good part of town with three others. Our clients visit us there. It is good money, we get a better class of trick. Also we watch out for each other so it is safe. Would you like to see my tax returns?"

Charles giggled and shook his head. He was starting to understand that Janos nearly always seemed stern, but had a wry sense of humour and a soft heart. He adored his mother and six sisters and had pictures of them all over the apartment. One evening they shared a bottle of wine and then another and another and Janos got melancholy.

"I miss them so much. I miss my country too, it is a beautiful country, Colombia, very beautiful, but it is them I miss most of all. We had a good life, but my father was greedy and a fool. He got into debt with some people you should not owe money to, that hijo de puta. Now I am paying that debt back and sending money to mi mamá y hermanas and saving so I can bring them over here. I want to help you more than I do Charles, I do not want to take your money, but I must think of my family first, I must look after them. ¿Comprendes?"

Charles thought of Raven and nodded. He threw his arms round Janos' shoulders and hugged him tight. Janos stiffened in his embrace, then suddenly relaxed and hugged him back. They sat there for ages, Janos reminiscing about his funny, foolish, smart little sisters and Charles sniffing and smiling and thinking of his sister.

The next day Janos acted like nothing had happened and was exceedingly unsympathetic about Charles' hangover but, from then on, he'd often drape his arm over Charles' shoulder when they were watching tv and Charles would snuggle up to him.

Since Charles insisted on working the streets, Janos insisted on giving him what he called the Ten Commandments:

1\. If it feels wrong, it is wrong. Trust your gut instinct.  
2\. Always use a condom.  
3\. Never go with a group of men.  
4\. Never go somewhere completely deserted.  
5\. Get yourself tested regularly at the free clinic.  
6\. Compare notes with the other boys about tricks.  
7\. If you get robbed, give it up. Money isn't worth dying for.  
8\. Fighting is always the last resort, but if you have to fight, go all out.  
9\. No drugs. Drugs make you stupid.  
10\. Don't fall in love with a trick.

Months passed. Charles got introduced to Janos' sisters after he accidentally wandered into the frame while Janos was Skyping them.

"This is Charles, my roommate. He is a college student. He is older than he looks."

A chorus of "hola" and "hi" from half a dozen female Janos lookalikes of various ages. Charles was subjected to a rapid fire interrogation and almost messed up massively when he forgot that Janos was supposed to be an accountant.

"What do you study?" asked Alejandra, Janos' oldest sister.

"Er, genetics," blurted out Charles.

"Genetics! I am most interested in genetics. I am going to study medicine in the fall."

There followed a trying ten minutes of in-depth questioning on his studies which Charles just about scraped through. The younger girls lost interest and drifted away. Alejandra leant forward and whispered:

"I know you are Janos' boyfriend. Tell him not to worry, I won't say anything to mamá."

Janos took over and wound up the conversation.

"So she knows you're gay."

Janos nodded. "No one else does."

Charles grinned. "And apparently we're boyfriends."

"No, no, no. I'm too beautiful for you."

"Ah, my beautiful accountant," said Charles, laughing.

"Why should I not be an accountant? I am good with money. I am good with figures," replied Janos, a little stiffly.

Charles had come to recognise that when Janos got formal it meant his feelings were hurt.

"You'd make a excellent accountant. You've got a logical mind and an eye for detail."

An infinitesimal smile curved Janos' lips.

"When I'm rich and famous you can be my accountant."

Janos snorted. "I will never be your accountant because you will never be rich and famous."

"How about my boyfriend then?"

Charles put on his best huge-eyed, pouty-lipped, I-am-an-adorable kitten look.

"No, like I said, I am too beautiful. But I will be your friend, which is better."

"That is better," said Charles and hugged him mercilessly. Janos resisted but in a half hearted, I'm-enjoying-this-really way.

Christmas came and Janos went home for a month, leaving Charles an endless list of instructions on how to take care of the apartment and himself. Charles felt a bit melancholy so invited a few of the boys over for a Christmas party. Things got decidedly out of hand - the "no drugs" rule was trashed, as was the "no fucking in the apartment" rule - and he spent an entire week cleaning up the mess and fixing or replacing stuff that had got broken. Someone nicked his leather jacket too, his favourite and priciest piece of clothing (he'd prudently hid the valuables).

Time passed and Janos' apartment became "their" apartment. Charles saved up in the hope of buying into the place Janos worked from. Then he'd get sick, or some client would fuck him up, or he'd be robbed and his meagre savings would dwindle to nothing.

And now he'd fallen in love with a trick.

He sat on the sofa in his fluffy, pink bathrobe, with Janos' arm round his shoulders and poured it all out.

"He's so handsome and he's an amazing fuck and he always makes sure I come and he's never cruel. He says I have beautiful eyes. He talks to me like I'm a real person. We discuss Jane Austen and social media and politics. He makes me laugh. Sometimes he looks so serious, but when he smiles it's like he's a different person. Some people might think his smile is too toothy, but I think it's lovely. He always overpays, like twice as much, three times. He looks at me and his eyes are so warm and soft. He bought me hot chocolate with everything on and a giant cookie. I keep imagining we're boyfriends and we live together and we do normal things like normal people. He has such a lovely deep voice. His eyes are this incredible, changeable grey-green. I love the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. I love his lean, muscular body - God, he's like an athlete or a warrior. I love him and I think . . . I think he loves me."

Janos hugged him.

"Charles, you are a beautiful and good person. Of course he feels for you. But it is not real. You are not boyfriends. He pays you for sex. You are his fantasy, all the fun without any of the boring, everyday things. And sooner or later he will remember what you are. He will think of all the cocks you have sucked, of all the men who have fucked you in so many different ways, and he will repent of his infatuation. He will turn away from you."

Charles said nothing. He knew Janos was right.

"It is fine to enjoy the sex and the company, but you must keep it professional, you must remember who you are and who he is."

Charles nodded dolefully.

"It is better to hurt a little now than to feel much pain later."

"I suppose."

"You must guard your heart, Charles."

"OK, OK."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"Now blow your nose, it is disgusting."

Charles chuckled and did as he was told.

"You will not always be a rent-boy and someday you will meet someone who is not a trick and they will love you and you will love them."

"I wish it could be tomorrow."

Janos kissed his hair. "Tomorrow is only a day away."

Charles stared at him. "Did you . . . did you just quote 'Annie' at me?"

"Yes, but if you tell anyone I will kill you," said Janos and tickled him till he screamed.


	5. Oh, Charles, you poor baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tangential mention of rape. Nothing explicit.

Erik clutched the letter in both hands. The words "Probation Service" jumped out at him. He jiggled his knee nervously, grabbed the letter opener and neatly slit the seal. He pulled out the sheet of paper and unfolded it.

"His exemplary behaviour while serving his prison term . . . "

"The testimony of the warden and several prison officers . . . "

"Numerous upright and outstanding members of the scientific and academic communities have testified to his moral rectitude . . . "

"His own expressions of remorse and regret . . . "

"He will be joining the staff at Trask Research . . . "

"Able to rejoin society and make a valuable contribution to the betterment of humanity . . . "

The letter dropped from his fingers. He should feel angry, but he didn't. He felt like a terrified eighteen year old, concealing his terror behind arrogance, manipulated into things he didn't want to do, hiding his bruises and telling himself he'd wanted it.

He called his mother.

"Erik! So good to hear from you. What's the news?"

"Mama . . . Shaw . . . he . . . they . . . " and then he couldn't say anymore.

"Oh, Erik. Oh, bubeleh, I'm so sorry. That terrible man, they should keep him locked up and throw away the key. Those dummköpfe, what are they thinking? A kick in the tuches is what they need. My poor boychik, my Erik, meyn zun."

He listened to his mother's outpouring of anger and love and after a while was able to reassure her that he was fine and, no, he didn't need her to come over, nor did he need to come stay with her. They had a long and tiring but comforting conversation and when he eventually hung up he did feel better.

He also felt a desperate need for comfort. For pale skin and red lips and blue eyes. Charles. Soon he was swinging the BMW through the darkened streets at a speed that would've earned him a ticket if he'd been stopped. There he was. Standing with the other boys, yet, in Erik's eyes, set apart from them. Special. Tight, white jeans and a silky, scarlet shirt, unbuttoned to the navel, in stark contrast to his pale skin. Erik opened the window.

"Charles! Hey, Charles!"

He acknowledged Erik with a wave and got into the car with something less than his usual grace.

"I had to see you, baby. I had to see you. I need you so bad."

He kissed him. Was he imagining things or did Charles wince?

"Are you OK?"

Charles turned a dazzling, fake smile on him.

"Course I am now you're here."

Erik suppressed his disquiet and drove to the hotel, Charles chattering in an over bright fashion the whole way. They'd started going to a slightly better place. They got some disapproving looks, but at least they weren't feasted on by things lurking in the bedclothes. It seemed to take an eternity to check in and ride the elevator up to the room and Erik couldn't even grope Charles as they were sharing it with a family of Chinese tourists.

"At last," said Erik and took Charles into his arms and kissed his red mouth.

Charles flinched.

Erik backed off.

"What's wrong?"

Charles gave him a pathetically unconvincing smile.

"Nothing, love, everything's fine."

He wriggled into Erik's arms and ground his hips against his crotch. Erik gently held him off and looked at his face. He was wearing makeup. Makeup that was hiding a split lip and a black eye. The rage that hadn't come when Erik had found out Shaw was going to be paroled swept through him like a forest fire. His hands shook where he was grasping Charles' shoulders and he had to pause a moment to regain control of his voice.

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing, it's nothing."

Erik led Charles to the bed, sat him down, then sat down beside him. He put one arm round his shoulder and rested his hand on his knee.

"Tell me."

Charles' bright demeanour disappeared and he sagged against Erik. He clutched Erik's hand where it rested on his knee. Fuck, he looked so small and young.

"I . . . I went with this guy and when we got to the room there were two other men there and . . . and it wasn't . . . it wasn't good."

A full body tremble shook him.

"What did they do?" Erik kept his voice calm and even.

Charles laughed. It was a broken sound.

"Whatever they wanted."

Erik wanted to smash everything in the room. He wanted to hunt down the scumbags who'd done this to Charles and kill them. Slowly. He wanted to scream and sob uncontrollably. Instead he slid off the bed and knelt in front of Charles.

"What can I do?"

Charles gazed down at him, eyes huge with tears. Now he was looking for it the cut in his lip and the bruising round his eye seemed obvious. Charles reached out and brushed his fingers across Erik's cheek.

"Tell me you love me. Tell me I'm yours and you're mine. Make love to me."

"I love you, Charles. I'm yours. You're mine. I love you."

Erik bent and slid Charles' boots off and kissed his feet. Each toe got a kiss. Then he pushed up his jeans and kissed all round his ankles. He stood and carefully manoeuvred Charles onto the bed. He slowly unbuttoned the scarlet shirt. There were makeup covered bruises round his throat and blue and purple marks all the way up his arms. Bites laced his shoulders. Erik kissed every bruise, every bite. He lapped at Charles' nipples and sucked and nibbled until Charles moaned and shifted. He kissed him so softly on the mouth it felt like a butterfly landing.

Erik eased him out of his jeans. Nothing underneath but Charles. His cock was red and half hard. There were red welts on his thighs like somebody had lashed him with a belt. Erik fought down the anger. No place for it here. He turned Charles over, straddled his lovely buttocks - also marred by ugly, red weals - and massaged his back - scored by the parallel lines of finger nail scratches - working all the kinks out of his shoulders, easing down his spine, kneading his flanks and caressing the small of his back.

"Oh, god, that's bliss, Erik. You can do that all night."

"I'll do whatever you want, sweetheart, anything."

He massaged Charles into a blissed-out trance. He kissed the marks on his ass cheeks, then parted his buttocks. Charles tensed. His hole was red and inflamed and two neat stitches marked the rim. Erik breathed deep and swallowed down his fury. He pressed the gentlest of kisses to Charles' poor, abused hole. Then he turned him over. A rose-red flush had spread from his cheeks, down his throat and onto his chest. His leaking cock was as scarlet as his shirt.

Erik kissed Charles' forehead, eyelids, the tip of his nose, his blushing cheeks and his chin. He sucked his earlobes and wiggled his tongue in his ears which made him squirm and protest and push Erik's face away.

"Erik, no, that's yucky."

Erik laughed and caught his hands and sucked every finger. Charles looked at him with heavy lidded eyes.

"You are so beautiful. You look like some prince from Imperial Rome or Ancient Greece."

"And you're my warrior, returned from the wars and serving me with your battle scarred body."

"Yes, my prince, my lord, my emperor, let me serve you."

Erik stuck his tongue into Charles' belly button. His erect, uncut cock brushed against Erik's throat. Erik rubbed his stubbled face over it. Charles wriggled like a little fish. Erik licked up the underside of his cock. He tasted salty and young and perfect.

"Yes, Erik, yes. Condom. Jeans."

Erik retrieved the condom and rolled it carefully over Charles' prick. Then he got to work with more licking and plenty of sucking. He dropped down and took Charles' balls in his mouth, a couple of piquant plums. He tongued them then moved back to Charles' cock. He took him down as far as he could go and used his hand to cover the base. He bobbed his head and jerked his hand and Charles twisted his fingers into his hair and muttered obscene encouragement. Erik hollowed his cheeks, increased the movement and the suction and squeezed Charles' bollocks. Charles gasped "Erik" and filled the condom with come.

Erik clutched his own prick and brought himself off. He was so turned on it didn't take much. He gazed at Charles' face, soft and relaxed, eyes closed, lips parted, bruises emerging from beneath the makeup. Charles turned onto his side, tucked his head under Erik's chin and snuggled into him.

"I could stay here forever," he whispered.

"My savings would cover us for several years."

He giggled.

"OK, we'll stay here and live off room service. You'll have to venture forth every now and then to get me books."

"Can't you read them on-line?"

"It's not the same. I like to have an actual paper and print book in my hand. We can have some bookshelves in that corner."

"What about fresh air and exercise?"

Charles smirked.

"I don't think we need to worry about excercise. As for fresh air, we can go out on the balcony. We could get a potted plant and it would be our little garden."

Erik gave him a gentle squeeze.

"Sounds perfect to me."

"This other Eden, demi-paradise."

"Is that a quote?"

Charles nodded.

"Richard II."

"Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

"I'm not just a pretty face."

Erik took his chin between thumb and forefinger and tipped up his head.

"No, but this is an exceptionally pretty face."

Charles looked almost shy, eyes shining with tears and a soft flush in his cheeks. Erik's chest felt tight and his stomach hollow.

"You need to rest and heal, baby. You shouldn't work for at least a few weeks."

Charles shook his head.

"It's not that easy, Erik. I have responsibilities."

"If it's the money I can pay you to stay off the streets."

Those big blues stared at him. Small hands pressed against his chest.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course." A sudden, brilliant idea struck him. "I'm going to be real busy with work for the next couple of weeks, but after that I've got some leave due. Why don't we go away together? A long weekend? Somewhere upstate, somewhere green and peaceful."

Charles looked completely thunderstruck.

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

He burst into tears. Erik patted his back and made soothing noises and ignored the breaking of his own heart.

"I'm sorry, baby, it was a stupid idea. Please don't cry. I won't ever suggest anything like that again."

Charles laughed through his tears.

"You idiot, it's a great idea, it's just that you're being so nice to me and after what happened it's all a bit much. I'd love to go away with you."

Erik hugged him till he squeaked, then sobered and said:

"About what happened, do you think you should go to the police?"

Charles' face and voice changed. He was all 'street'.

"Yeah, sure, coz the cops will just be falling over themselves to get the guys who fucked up a dirty, little, faggot whore."

"But - "

"No. You have no idea what you're talking about. It would just make trouble for me. Fuck, they'd probably arrest me. No, Erik, no."

Erik had never heard him sound so imperious.

"You know best," he said humbly. "Are . . . are we still on for the weekend?"

Charles squealed.

"Oh, fuck, yes!"

They spent a happy hour looking at resorts and in the end settled on a place called The Point which was on a lake and had eleven rustic-chic bedrooms in four log mansions.

"It's terribly expensive, Erik."

"Fuck it, I hardly ever splash out, besides, you deserve it. Now don't get all tearful on me again."

"I can't help it when you're so nice to me."

"Don't worry, over a long weekend my surly nature will assert itself and you'll see the real me. Now, you call my phone and I'll save your number."

Charles dutifully tapped Erik's number into his battered old cell.

"Here's everything I've got in my wallet and I'll get some more at the nearest ATM. That should tide you over until we go away. Hey, don't you dare cry on me young man."

"I'm not crying," said Charles indignantly as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Over the next couple of weeks Erik only saw Charles twice. He was working from early in the morning to late at night. The redevelopment project was at a critical stage. He was tempted to call Charles every day, but decided that was worryingly stalkerish so called him every other day. Erik talked about his work mostly. Charles told him about a walk in the park where he saw the most adorable puppy. They discussed the books he'd read and the films he'd seen. He repeated some of the droll things his roommate, Janos, had said. Erik was consumed with jealously, but resolutely avoided interrogating Charles about the exact nature of his relationship with Janos.

Charles made some surprisingly astute comments about Erik's work. He'd listen, ask a few pointed questions, then say things like "perhaps if you kept him better informed he wouldn't constantly challenge you" or "that's not over confidence, that's insecurity." He was mostly spot on.

When Erik wasn't working or visiting his mother, he was daydreaming about the trip. He imagined them curled up on a sofa, in front of a roaring fire, with a couple of glasses of something expensive. They'd try all the local restaurants. They'd row out onto the lake. They'd go for long walks. He wondered if Charles had decent walking shoes. He'd buy him a pair. It was edging towards fall so he'd get him a good waterproof jacket and a warm jumper. He pictured Charles in a sweater two sizes too big for him, the exact same colour as his eyes, yes, an overlarge sweater and nothing else, lying on the bed, laughing at Erik. Oh god, he so wanted him to be happy, poor baby, after everything he'd been through. Charles sounded deliriously excited when they spoke on the phone.

It was the day of the trip. Erik would be picking up Charles in just a couple of hours. Two hours! He felt unreasonably nervous. He'd packed and repackaged his case three times and now he was reduced to pacing the apartment. The doorbell rang. What the fuck was this?

He flung open the door.

Pietro stood there with a massive backpack hanging off one shoulder and an expression of extreme apprehension.

"Dad . . . I . . . Dad, can I stay?"


	6. Meeting and unmeeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same scenes from Charles' then Erik's POV.

"Charles, you are making me loco."

"Just help me choose what clothes to take."

"You know I don't approve of this?"

"La, la, la, I can't hear you."

"It will give you false hope, then, when he gets bored, you will be even more unhappy."

"Still can't hear you. Look, help me pick some non-slutty clothes for our long weekend."

Janos gave him his best eye-roll, sigh and hair toss.

"It is your funeral mijo. Also, all your clothes are slutty."

"Then help me choose the least slutty ones."

In the end they settled on three pairs of jeans, three tees, two shirts and two jackets (denim and canvas).

The day dawned. Charles had been packed since six even though Erik wasn't picking him up until ten.

"I'll give him a call just to double-check the arrangements. Wait, where's my phone? Where's my phone?"

Charles swept through the apartment like a tiny but destructive tornado, an increasingly disgruntled Janos tidying up behind him.

"I can't find it! Someone's stolen it!"

"No one would steal your phone. If a homeless person found it in the street they would leave it. Let me call you and see if we can hear it."

Deadly silence.

"What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?"

"Here, take my phone. Call him."

"I . . . I can't remember his number."

Janos shook his head and since Charles looked about ready to jitter himself into pieces pulled him into a strong hug.

"Charles, do not panic. You know the arrangements. You go wait at the right place at the right time and all will be well. ¿Si?"

"Si," muttered Charles, a little ashamed of himself.

At nine o'clock Charles kissed Janos goodbye and set off with his wheeled suitcase. The subway got him to the 'slightly nicer hotel they'd been meeting at' in fifteen minutes. He was forty-five minutes early. He walked up and down since the doorman was giving him funny looks. At five to ten he settled just past the hotel. He waited patiently till a quarter past. Traffic probably. He waited impatiently until half past. Come on, Erik. Fuck, if only he hadn't lost his phone. He kept waiting. It started to rain. The doorman told him to move on so he went a few yards then stopped. He was getting wet. The rain was cold. His chest began to fill with ice crystals. They sent out long, freezing spikes that pierced his heart. He was crying, but you couldn't tell because his face was wet with rain. He sat on his suitcase, soaking wet, a huge, ugly hole in the centre of him.

At five minutes past twelve he rolled his suitcase slowly home.

The genuinely shocked look on Janos' face broke the ice and he plunged into the black, icy depths.

That evening he went out onto the streets, convinced Erik would come driving up with an explanation for everything. He didn't.

No sign of him the next day. Or the day after. Charles was getting tired of putting off tricks so he could be there for Erik.

On the third day he saw the BMW come round the corner. It would be OK. Erik would explain everything. They'd go back to how it was before. Erik parked. Charles clambered in. Erik grabbed him and hugged him and kissed him.

"Oh, fuck, Charles, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I tried calling you but your phone just rang and rang and then it went dead."

Erik looked tired and harassed.

"I lost the stupid thing and then I couldn't remember your number."

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."

"What happened?"

Erik was silent. He seemed to be struggling for words.

"It was . . . someone . . . something unexpected."

"Work?"

Erik latched onto 'work' with obvious relief.

"Yes, yes, it was work."

"Let's go somewhere where you can it explain to me properly."

Guilt etched Erik's features.

"I can't. I have to get back. Have you got a new phone?" Charles nodded. "Here, let me have your number. I'll call you as soon as I can. We'll sort something out. Soon, I promise. God, I'm sorry, Charles, but I've got to go."

Charles watched the BMW's rear lights disappear down the street. That evening he serviced three tricks. He thought he'd feel bad, but he didn't. He didn't feel anything.

"I saw Erik today."

Janos put an arm round his shoulder.

"And?"

"He said it was work that stopped him coming. He lied. I could tell. There was something he didn't want to tell me. He said 'someone'. Someone he didn't want to talk to me about."

"¡Maldito bastardo!"

"Please don't say I told you so."

"I would never say that. You are worth a hundred, no, a thousand of him. Now, you watch your stupido space program on the tv and I will feed you."

Charles lay on the sofa watching old 'Star Trek' reruns while Janos fed him empanadas. They filled his belly, but he still felt hollow.

Work was strangely easy because he just didn't care. Things tricks said or did that once would have bothered him felt unreal. He felt unreal. Insubstantial. As though a breath of air would have him tumbling on the breeze like thistledown. Every night he cried himself to sleep, silently, so he wouldn't bother Janos.

He was doing a good job of convincing himself he was over Erik when his phone rang.

"Charles, baby, it's so good to hear your voice. I'm sorry it's been so long, but things have been . . . difficult. Can we meet? The newish hotel? This evening at ten?"

Just the sound of Erik's voice and he was falling, falling.

"Yeah, sure."

"See you there, sweetheart. Gotta go."

He rang off before Charles could say goodbye. Sweetheart. He'd called him sweetheart.

Charles was outside the hotel where Erik had failed him at five to ten. He hadn't told Janos where he was going. He waited. Five past. Ten past. Quarter past. The ice started to form. His phone rang.

"Charles, oh baby, oh shit, I'm sorry, something came up and I can't make it. Ah, god, sweetheart, I want to see you, to hold you, to kiss you so bad. I'll call again, soon, real soon, I promise."

The ice melted a little.

Days went by without a word. Then one evening Charles was coming out of a dark alleyway after sucking some guy off, when he saw the BMW. A couple of boys were leaning on the window, flirting with Erik, who was waving them away.

"Fuck off, he's mine," yelled Charles and gave one of the boys a hard shove.

He looked like he might make something of it, but Charles was fired up so he backed down.

Erik embraced him.

"I can't stay, but I had to see you. I know I owe you an explanation, but I've always found it hard, bordering impossible to . . . to expose myself. There've been some massive changes in my life recently, well, one massive change and it's affected everything. It's changed my priorities. It's changed the way I view my life. It's changed the way I feel about - "

His head was down and he wasn't looking at Charles.

"It's changed the way you feel about me?" said Charles.

Erik looked up. His eyes were full of tears.

"It should have, god knows it should have, but it hasn't. I still want you, need you, love you. I shouldn't, I know I shouldn't and what's happened has really brought it home to me how wrong this is. You're seventeen for fuck's sake! I'm old enough to be your father. Somehow I've managed not to think about that, but now I can't avoid it. I have to stop. This has to stop."

Charles pushed up out of his seat, settled on Erik's lap facing him and wriggled into a comfortable position. Erik gasped. Charles kissed him long and deep, nipping his lower lip and sucking Erik's tongue like he'd sucked his cock so many times before. Erik responded, wrapping his arms round Charles, kissing him back, then licking and biting his throat. Charles ground down on his crotch. He felt Erik's cock harden, that big prick swell and stiffen just for him. For Charles. Erik's hips jerked up, then he froze. Charles slid a hand down to Erik's cock, but Erik caught him by the wrist and the shoulder and pushed him off and back into his seat.

"But you want it, I can feel you want it," said Charles, bewildered.

"Get out."

"No."

Charles reached for Erik's cock. Erik held him off.

"Get out."

"But you want it, you want me."

Erik let go of him and leapt out of the car. He came round to Charles' side and wrestled him out. He was gentle, but inexorable. Erik got back in. Charles beat on the window with both fists.

"Is this it? Is this the end, you fucking coward?"

Erik lowered the window, clutched the front of Charles' tee in both hands and hauled him into a brutal kiss.

"It should be the end, but it's not, it's not."

He pushed Charles away so hard he sat down on the kerb. The car accelerated off. Charles sat on the sidewalk, breathless, but strangely hopeful. It wasn't until he got home that he realised he'd bruised his hands bashing on the window and Erik had torn his tee-shirt.

*** * ***

"Dad . . . I . . . Dad, can I stay?"

"Pietro?" said Erik, stupidly.

They stared at each other, Erik in shock, Pietro with a mix of bravado and vulnerability. Pietro stumbled across the threshold into Erik's arms. Hugging his bony teenage body felt startlingly familiar. Charles. Erik shoved that thought as far away as possible.

"Put your backpack over there. Come and sit down. What in god's name are you doing here?"

"I want to stay with you," blurted Pietro.

"I gathered that, but why? What's happened to going to Europe with your mother and sister and Frank?"

"I don't want to go to Hungary. I fucking hate Hungary and I fucking hate Frank. Mom thinks the sun shines out of his ass, but he's a boring, tedious shit-head, who's always trying to be my dad and he's not my dad, you are. He puts his arm round my shoulder and calls me 'son' and I want to punch him in his stupid, smug face. He tries to be all buddy-buddy and when that doesn't work he acts all disciplinarian, which would be hilarious if it didn't drive me crazy, coz he's a weak, pathetic douche."

"I thought you wanted to go to Europe," said Erik, feeling decidedly behind the drag-curve.

"No, fuck no! Mom wants to go to Europe coz Frank's job's moving there and she can't stand to be apart from him for like two seconds. She's all over him. It's disgusting. It's all "Frank said this" and "Frank did that" until I wanna scream. Wanda's not crazy insane about him, but she thinks he's ok. She wants to go to Hungary, to Budapest. She's all like 'oh, we can explore the lands our Sinti relatives came from.' Plus she's like conquered high school over here - top of the class in all her subjects and Miss Popular with everyone - and now she can't wait to be voted 'most likely to rule the world' over there. She's already started learning Hungarian for fuck's sake and it's all just garbage to me."

He paused for breath. Erik tried to think of something sensible to say.

"I'm gonna lose all my friends and track isn't big over there like it is here and I'm gonna be the loser who's failing everything like I am now, but without the one thing I'm good at; running. I don't wanna go. I won't go. Please let me stay here with you, dad. I can keep going to the same school; it'll be a bit of a journey, but I don't care. I can keep my friends and, best of all, I can stay on the track team."

"Have you told your mother all this?"

"Yeah, but she won't listen. She says I'll like it when I'm over there and I won't, I know I won't."

"Does she know you're here?"

Pietro sullenly shook his head.

"Pietro! She'll be going mad with worry. Call her at once."

Pietro reluctantly got out his phone. Erik took the opportunity to ring Charles. His phone rang and rang without reply.

"Pick up. Pick up," whispered Erik. He didn't pick up.

Piero's conversation with his mother consisted of him muttering "Yeah" and "Nope" while Magda went ballistic at the other end. Erik could actually hear her. After a while things calmed down and Erik gestured for Pietro to hand him the phone.

”Oh, Erik, I'm so glad he came to you. I was beside myself."

"He's perfectly fine. Why doesn't he stay here over the weekend and I'll bring him home on Sunday evening?"

"That's a good idea. It'll give all of us a chance to cool down."

"Did you know he was so anti the Budapest thing?"

"Well, yes, but I had no idea it was so serious."

"We'll talk more on Sunday."

"Yes. Put me back onto Pietro."

Erik handed the phone back. Pietro listened to his mom, nodding his head exaggeratedly and rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, mom, yeah, me too. What, do I have to say it? You want me to say it?" Massive sigh. "Yeah, mom, I love you too." He hung up.

"Don't ever do that again, Pietro. Don't ever disappear on your mom or me."

"I won't."

Erik gave him a hug.

"Now, go put your stuff in the spare room. Do you want some, er, I guess it would be brunch?"

"God, yes. I didn't eat breakfast."

As soon as Pietro was out of the room, Erik rang Charles again.

"Please, Charles, please."

No answer.

Over the course of the morning, afternoon and evening, Erik kept calling Charles only to be answered with endless ringing. Charles didn't even have voicemail. Erik felt guilty for even thinking of Charles when Pietro was with him, and under such circumstances, but he just couldn't help the way his thoughts drifted. He imagined him waiting for hours and hours, until nightfall, sitting in the dark and the rain, crying, thinking Erik had abandoned him, thinking Erik didn't care. Erik forced his mind away from Charles and concentrated fiercely on Pietro.

They talked for hours. About Frank, who sounded like a pompous pain in the ass to Erik, but not actually a bad guy. He'd met him a couple of times and he'd come across as reliable and totally lacking in a sense of humour. They talked about Pietro's once close relationship with Magda and how they seemed to be drifting apart. He used to tell her everything (almost), but now all she was interested in was Frank. Erik wasn't sure this was entirely fair. They discussed his twin, Wanda, and how her success at school and socially made Pietro feel left behind. Then there was track, his one true love.

"It's the only time I feel completely free. I just leave everything behind and there's just my feet hitting the track and the ache of my muscles and the air in my lungs and I'm flying."

Once Pietro had gone to bed, after take-out pizza and back-to-back MCU movies, Erik rang Charles again.

"Oh, God, baby, answer me. I just want to tell you it's alright, that I haven't forgotten you, that I love you."

No reply.

Over the next couple of days Erik kept trying to sneak away to see Charles, but Pietro followed him around like a lonesome puppy. They talked more. They went to the park. They went bowling. They went for a couple of runs - which left Erik feeling like he was going to die and with a new appreciation of just how fast his son was.

Sunday evening turned into a long, drawn-out family conference. Frank's well-meaning interventions drove Pietro and, to Erik's surprise, Magda beserk. Finally, Erik took him to one side and gently suggested he give them an hour or so to themselves. He was reluctant at first, but then Wanda, god bless her, piped up:

"I could do with a time-out. Why don't you and me go chat in the kitchen?"

Erik mouthed "thanks" at her as she led Frank off.

With Frank gone, Pietro was able to be honest with his mother. There were tears on both sides - Pietro claimed he was coming down with a cold - and a heap of hugging. They both looked to Erik.

"Yes, of course Pietro can live with me while you're in Hungary."

More tears. More hugging.

Erik had wanted to go see Charles after, but he was so drained he went straight home.

Work on Monday was reasonably problem free and afterwards he went to see Charles. He couldn't stay long because he was going to a meeting at Pietro's school. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the family was off to Budapest and Erik needed to get up to speed. As soon as he saw him on the street corner, leaning against a wall, hips thrust out, thumbs in his belt loops, Erik thought his heart would batter its way though his chest.

And then he was in his car and in his arms, soft and small and bony and smelling of rain and sweat. Erik kissed those plump, ruby lips and hugged that lithe body and never wanted to let him go.

"Oh, fuck, Charles, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I tried calling you but your phone just rang and rang and then it went dead."

"I lost the stupid thing and then I couldn't remember your number."

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry."

"What happened?"

Erik was silent. How could he tell Charles that his son, his sixteen year old son, had turned up unexpectedly on his doorstep? Oh, god, Pietro was just a year younger than him. Charles would be disgusted at the thought of Erik paying for sex with someone virtually the same age as his son. He'd think Erik had some weird, incestuous thing going on. No, he couldn't tell him. He couldn't bring himself to say the words.

"It was . . . someone . . . something unexpected."

"Work?"

"Yes, yes, it was work."

"Let's go somewhere where you can it explain to me properly."

The thing Erik wanted most in the world was to go back to a hotel and be with Charles. Talk to him. Fuck him. Hold him. Tell him how loved he was. How precious he was. How sorry Erik was.

"I can't. I have to get back. Have you got a new phone?" Charles nodded. "Here, let me have your number. I'll call you as soon as I can. We'll sort something out. Soon, I promise. God, I'm sorry, Charles, but I've got to go."

He sat through the meeting at Magda's side in a daze. He managed to take in that things weren't quite as bad as Pietro had made out. He was struggling in a couple of subjects, scraping by with most and doing OK in a few. All the time he wondered what the teachers, what Magda, would think if they knew who he'd been with minutes earlier. The looks of disgust on their faces. How they'd turn from him in horror. And, oh fuck, how would Wanda and Pietro react?

His every waking thought was occupied with either Pietro or Charles. He even dreamt about them. There was one particularly disturbing dream where they met and Charles said:

"Hi. I'm the rent-boy your dad's fucking. Would you like a go?"

And Pietro nodded and went to kiss Charles. At which point Erik woke up in a cold sweat, dashed to the bathroom and threw up in the commode.

He arranged to meet Charles - who sounded delighted to hear from him - as he felt he owed him an explanation, plus he couldn't bear to stay away. At the last moment he had to cancel because Pietro came over unexpectedly after a row where even stolid, patient Frank had snapped.

Charles' voice on the phone as Erik apologised sounded flat and dead. He felt as though he was destroying something beautiful and hopeful in Charles. Perhaps it was better if he left Charles alone to get over him. Charles was better off without him. He was a failure as a lover. He couldn't afford to be a failure as a father.

This resolution didn't even last the week. One evening after work he found himself driving to Charles' beat without volition. A couple of boys tripped over to the car.

"Hello, big boy. Fancy some fun?"

"You can have both of us if you like. Special offer."

He tried to wave them away, but they were persistent as wasps.

"Fuck off, he's mine," yelled Charles and pushed the boys away.

As soon as he got in the car, Erik embraced him and launched into a rambling explanation and apology about how things had changed. He couldn't look at Charles.

"It's changed the way you feel about me?" asked Charles.

Erik's eyes burned with tears. He looked Charles in the face, his beautiful, desperate face. Those eyes. He rambled on, barely knowing what he was saying, something about how it should have changed everything, but it hadn't, he still loved Charles, despite bring old enough to be his father.

"I have to stop. This has to stop," he finished.

Those eyes fixed on him, heat seeking missiles. And suddenly he had a lapful of rent-boy and Charles was kissing him and sucking on his tongue like it was the best tasting thing in the world. Overwhelmed by heat, by the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him, wriggling in Erik's lap like a snake, Erik kissed back and tore at his white throat with sharp teeth. Charles rotated his hips and the friction brought the blood rushing to Erik's cock, got him hard, got him ready to fuck the living daylights out of his boy. Clever fingers reached for his prick and Erik was on the brink when he thought: Pietro. What if this were Pietro? What if some divorced father of two in his mid-thirties was paying Pietro for sex and was just about to ream him out like a virgin on their wedding night? He'd kill him. Erik would kill him. He thrust Charles off and back into his seat.

Charles protested, but Erik told him to get out and, when he wouldn't, dragged him out, being careful not to hurt him. 

Charles' fists thundered on the window and he screamed, "Is this it? Is this the end, you fucking coward?"

Erik knew he should drive away. He should drive away and be a good father and never see Charles again. He lowered the window, hauled Charles half way through and kissed him viciously hard. He could taste blood. Charles' blood.

"It should be the end, but it's not, it's not."

He let him go and roared off down the road.

When he got home he jerked off frantically thinking of Charles' red prick, taut and dripping in his hand, of Charles' red lips in an obscene 'O' around his cock and Charles' blue eyes shining with love and joy.

He was damned, damned, damned.


	7. It's all over now

Erik spent the next week obsessively going over every detail of his last meeting with Charles. Every word. Every look. Every touch. Every kiss. He kept rerunning things in his head, changing what he said or did so somehow everything worked out.

Work was fairly quiet, but he saw a lot of Magda, Pietro and Wanda. They would be off in less than a month and there was a lot to sort out. He and Magda discussed how best to handle Pietro's struggles at school. He and Wanda just hung out a lot since he wouldn't be seeing her for a while. She gave him some surprisingly good advice on her twin. He put Pietro on his insurance and signed him up with his doctor. He set up the spare room for his son; he'd got into the habit of using it as an impromptu storage room for work projects so all that stuff had to be moved out and other homes found for it.

A dozen times a day he reached for his phone, desperate to call Charles. Then he'd put it down. He should never see Charles again. Or maybe he should see him once more to try to end things on an amicable note. Maybe he could carry on seeing Charles without Pietro finding out. Perhaps he should come clean to Pietro and promise it was all over and he'd never do anything like that ever again. Perhaps he should tell Pietro he was going to keep on seeing Charles, that he needed him, loved him, that it wasn't just some sordid exchange of money for sex.

He'd thought himself into a maze of indecision and gut-wrenching misery by the end of the week. On Friday morning his phone rang. Charles. For a moment he considered not answering, then he picked up.

"Charles, I - "

"Shut up and listen. Meet me at our hotel at eight this evening."

He hung up before Erik could say anymore.

He was supposed to be having dinner with Magda and Frank and the kids. He cancelled saying something had come up at work. Somehow he got through the day and headed home. He changed into jeans and tee. Then chinos and a polo. Then suit pants and a shirt. He ended up in grey jeans and a black shirt. He paced his apartment, walking from room to room, trying out different scenarios in his head. By the time he left he was still completely undecided as to what to do for the best.

He got to the hotel half an hour early so walked round the block a couple of times. On his second circuit he saw Charles coming round the corner. His heart leapt. He'd heard that phrase, but he'd never experienced it before, that painful tug in his chest, pulling him towards Charles.

Charles was in black jeans, black biker boots, white cut-off tee - baring a pale strip of flat belly - and purple jacket. He was wearing a little eyeliner and transparent lip gloss. He looked divine.

Erik opened his mouth to say something - god knows what - and Charles went up on tiptoe and kissed him wet and filthy. His lip gloss tasted of mint. Erik's mind went blank and his cock hardened.

"Go get a room."

Erik did as he was told while Charles waited by the elevator looking like sin personified. As soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, Charles backed Erik up against the wall and rubbed his crotch up and down Erik's thigh. Erik cupped the back of his head in his hands - oh, the dense silk of his hair - and kissed the mint off his lips. The elevator pinged and they staggered down the corridor, hands all over each other.

Once they got inside the room, Erik tried to speak again. Charles shushed him.

"You'll ruin everything if you speak. Just don't say a word."

He backed Erik onto the bed. Short, stubby fingers attacked Erik's buttons and zip. As Charles undressed him, he showered Erik with tantalising touches; the wisp of a breath on his nipple, the merest scrape of nails over his belly, a brush of lips on his thigh and ticklish fingers down his flanks. When Charles had him naked, he stood over him on the bed and peeled his own clothes off like someone unwrapping the most gorgeous present. First his jacket, flung on the floor. The slow reveal of dark nipples as he pulled his tee over his head and then dropped it in Erik's face. Then the agonisingly slow slide down of his jeans, inch by inch over that splendid ass and bright red, half hard prick.

"All for you, Erik, all for you. Now, watch me, darling."

He got down on his hands and knees, ass towards Erik, and using the lube he'd got from his jeans pocket, started to prep himself. First one finger.

"Mmm, feels good, but not as good as your cock's going to feel."

Erik attention was riveted to the slide of pale finger into pink pucker. He added a second and a third. He was moaning now, moaning and gasping and arching his back.

"I'll need another if I'm going to take you, darling, you're so big."

He slipped a fourth finger in and made a thin, high noise that had Erik rock hard. Charles shuffled down the bed towards him, ass first. Erik put his fingers against Charles' as they slid in and out of his hole, hot and slick with lube. He pressed his lips to the rim to feel the motion of his fingers against his tongue. He could taste the slightly chemical flavour of the lube, overlaying Charles' anal musk. Charles swung round and pushed Erik down onto the mattress.

"Need you, Erik, need you now."

He poised himself. Erik grabbed his hips, arresting his descent.

"Condom, you forgot the condom."

"You're clean aren't you?" Erik nodded. "Me too. Had myself checked out. Let's bareback, darling."

Erik nodded again, incapable of speech. Charles took hold of Erik's cock, positioned it at his entrance and slid down slowly, oh so slowly, using those fantastic thigh muscles to ease down a fraction of an inch at a time. Erik let out a long groan. Being inside Charles with a condom had been bliss, this was heaven itself; his insides were like hot velvet clenched on Erik's prick. Charles settled with a sigh. Erik reached up to stroke a forefinger across Charles' scarlet cheek. Charles gave him a heartbreakingly sweet smile, then rose up and sank down, a wave on the sea.

The curtains were half open and the sunset streamed into the bland room and painted it with glory. The light turned Charles' white flesh to pink and gold as he impaled himself again and again on Erik's cock. He scarcely looked human, more some creature of myth, some young god descended to earth and gracing Erik with his divine body. He started to rotate his hips. Erik gripped those thighs, feeling the sweat drenched muscle contract and release as Charles rose and fell. Then he began to clench rhythmically. Erik's hips jerked up in a helpless counterpoint. He was close, oh god, he was close.

"Touch me, Erik," gasped Charles.

Erik took Charles' cock in a tender grip and worked him with loving care, swiping his thumb over the slit and giving his balls a scrape with his nails, just the way he liked it.

"Erik, Erik, Erik," cried Charles and spurted all over Erik's chest and abs.

His ass closed like a vice and Erik yelled and came inside him.

Charles collapsed on top of him. They were both slimy with sweat and come. The room reeked of it. Erik's pulse thundered in his head and he could feel Charles' heartbeat against his chest. He stroked Charles' sweat black hair with trembling fingers. Charles made faint, contented noises against his nipple.

Erik loved him to the edge of madness.

And that was precisely why it had to stop. Because it was a kind of madness. The longer it went on, the more obsessed Erik became. The more he had of Charles, the more he wanted. He was risking his family and it just got riskier as time went on. Sooner or later he was bound to be found out, particularly with Pietro in the apartment. And what about his job? How would they view his liaison with a seventeen year old rent-boy? And if he didn't get caught or if somehow his family and his employers were miraculously ok with it, how could it possibly work out between him and Charles? He was old enough to be Charles' father. One of the reasons his marriage had broken up was because, as Magda put it, he was a boring, work-driven automaton. And, oh god, what would his poor mother think? How would it affect her?

"Charles, we can't see each other again."

Charles, who had been amusing himself by breathing hotly on Erik's nipple, looked up.

"What?"

"We can't see each other again."

"If this is a joke, it's not a very funny one."

"I'm not joking. I'm serious. I didn't pick you up for our weekend away because my son turned up at my place. He's sixteen. Just a year younger than you. It brought it home to me that I'd been paying a seventeen year old boy for sex. How do you think my son would feel if he found out? My family? My work? I've known from the start that this was wrong, but, until now, I've been blocking it out. No more. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, but we're over, Charles."

Charles gazed at him with those unreal eyes.

"I forgave you for letting me down over the holiday, but I won't forgive you for this. You've got one last chance to take it back, Erik."

"I wish I could. It's all over between us."

Tears gleamed in those bluest of blue eyes.

"I'm generous. I'll give you an extra chance."

For a moment Erik hesitated. The urge to change his mind, to clutch Charles to him, to dry his tears and tell him he loved him was almost overwhelmingly strong. No, he was doing the right thing.

"I'm sorry, Charles."

Charles pushed away. Erik's cock slid out of his ass. He stood at the side of the bed, dark hair sticking up every which way, slow tears trickling down his cheeks, his own come smeared on his stomach, Erik's come slipping down his inner thigh. Somehow he still had a strange kind of dignity. He unfroze and wandered the room, picking up his clothes and putting them on.

"You're a liar and a hypocrite. You're a liar because you said you loved me, but at the first test of your love, you failed. You're a hypocrite because you say you've known it was wrong all along, but you're only giving up on us because you're afraid of getting caught."

Erik sat up and reached for his wallet.

"At least let me help - "

Charles knocked the wallet out of his hand, showering them with notes.

"How dare you! You tear me in half and try to mop up the blood with your money. I really am nothing more than a rent-boy to you."

Erik swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that - "

Charles shoved him hard and Erik sat down abruptly on the beige carpet.

"You're handsome and charming and you sweet talked me beautifully, but you're hollow inside, Erik, you're empty."

Erik got to his knees and reached for him. Charles slapped him across the face.

"You're worse than the tricks that beat me up. At least those wounds heal, but you've broken my heart, you've broken my fucking heart!"

He fled the room. Erik scrambled to his feet and, still naked, took off after him. He got to the elevator just as the doors closed. The last he saw of Charles was a glimpse of his furious, tragic face.

He walked slowly back to the room, ignoring the stares of the maid.

Erik drove home on auto-pilot. He locked the apartment door and went to close the curtains. He gasped and started forward, cracking his forehead on the glass. Sebastian Shaw was standing on the other side of the road looking up at the window. A bus drove past, blocking his view. Once it had gone by, he could see there was no one there. He was imagining it. The culmination of a shattering day. The one thing Shaw had never been was stupid. If he were caught anywhere near Erik his parole would be revoked and he'd be thrown back into prison. Erik looked up and down the street several times. Nothing. Nobody.

He staggered into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He was just about to get in when he realised he smelt of Charles. His sweat. His come. His sweet, musky scent. He slumped to the cold, tiled floor and wept.


	8. A downward spiral then flying up and away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for rape. Skip from the first set of asterisks (* * *) to the second to avoid.

Charles sat on the subway train, going over what had just happened. Logically he could understand why Erik had ended it; the sudden appearance of his son making concrete the fact that he'd been fucking a boy of pretty much the same age. But the way he'd done it! Fuck, he'd still been inside Charles when he'd said it was over, his cock had still been up Charles' arse. And then to offer him money! Rage coursed through him, almost equalling his sorrow. Despair won out as he slogged up the stairs to the apartment - the elevator was broken again.

Janos was clattering round the kitchen. He turned to Charles with a smile on his face which disappeared when he saw Charles' expression.

"Charles, mi Carlos, what is it?"

"You were right, you were right about everything," said Charles and burst into tears.

He let it all flood out, his fury and misery, while Janos alternated between petting and soothing him and cursing Erik in Spanish.

Charles just wanted to go to bed, but Janos insisted he eat some dinner, virtually force-feeding him tamales. When he went to make up the sofa for the night, Janos stopped him and said:

"Tonight you will sleep in a proper bed."

He made Charles clean his teeth, then they cuddled up in Janos' double bed. Janos wrapped strong arms round him and hugged him to his bare chest.

"I wish I was in love with you," sighed Charles.

"I also wish that was so. We are bound as if by blood, but as brothers, not lovers. You know it is true."

"I know."

He fell asleep to Janos singing soft and melancholy Spanish into his hair.

*** * ***

Charles mooched around the apartment for a couple of days, having a crying jag or a bout of rage every now and then. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer and decided to get back to work. Janos was dubious, but Charles was desperate for a distraction. He put in his tight jeans and his tighter tee and his silky jacket and stepped out.

Everything went as usual for the first the couple of days - the tricks weren't too bad - then Luiz pointed across the street.

"Looks like you have an admirer, Carlos. He's been staring at you for the last half hour."

Charles heart leapt and then plummeted. It wasn't Erik. This man, dressed in a smart, dark suit, was older than Erik and a little shorter. He crossed the road. Up close he was slim, with thin lips, narrow eyes and a retroussé nose. Charles instinctively felt he was bad news, but he'd done a couple of lines with Luiz and his judgement wasn't all it should be, plus he was feeling reckless and like nothing mattered anyway.

He put on his best flirty-dirty smile.

"Hello, love, looking for some fun?"

The man smiled, a thin, cruel thing.

"Yes, yes I am. I've been out of town for a while and now I'm back I've been keeping tabs on an old friend and that led me to you."

His voice was cultured and smug.

"Did someone recommend me to you?"

"In a manner of speaking. Let's go."

He took hold of Charles' arm and led him to a big, black car. He pushed Charles into the front passenger seat and got into the driver's side. He drove off. He kept glancing at Charles and chuckling.

"What's so funny?"

"It's amusing, considering how things turned out, that he seems to have the exactly the same tastes as I do."

This meant nothing to Charles.

They pulled up at a fancy hotel. Charles was certain they'd be turned away, but the man pressed a wad of cash into the concierge's hand and he got all obsequious, while giving Charles some vicious side-eye. Up they went in the elevator, the man keeping a painfully tight grip on Charles' arm the whole time.

"Ooo, fancy," said Charles as soon as they got in the room.

"Yes, I imagine it's not what you're used to."

"Sure isn't. So, what would you like me to call you?"

"You will call me 'sir'. Now strip, you dirty little whore."

All Charles' ignored instincts rose up and screamed at him.

"I've . . . I've changed my mind," said Charles.

The man backhanded him so hard he crashed to the floor. He felt a warm trickle of blood from his mouth and nose. He tried to get up, but the man put a brogue clad foot on his face and pressed his cheek into the carpet.

"Oh, you are going to be so much fun."

Later, when it was over - it seemed to go on for hours - and he was sure the man had gone, he untangled himself from the phone cord that the man had used to tie him up. There was a lot of blood on the bedclothes and he was still bleeding. Too much blood. He needed help. He picked up the bedside phone. Dead. He looked at the tangle of cord lying on the floor. That was why. He should plug it in again. He tried and kept on trying, but his fingers didn't seem to be working properly and his vision kept going dim. What about his phone? He spotted it on the floor, a forlorn heap of smashed metal and plastic.

He'd go find help. He struggled into his jeans - passing out half way through getting them on - and pulled on his jacket. His tee had been torn to pieces. Standing up hurt so much he screamed. A scratchy gasp came out of his throat. Okay, standing wouldn't work, he'd crawl. Crawling wasn't much better, but he managed to get to the door, kneel up, pull down the handle and fall into the corridor. Luckily the elevator was just across the hall. He dragged himself over to it and pressed the button. He kept hoping someone would come, but no one did. The elevator pinged. He struggled in. Down it went. It pinged again. By a superhuman effort he managed to stand and staggered into the foyer. There were people there. They stepped out of his way and averted their eyes. He fell against the reception desk.

"Help," he whispered, "please help me."

The same concierge the man had bribed burst out from behind the desk, grabbed Charles and hauled him towards the door. Charles screamed a soundless scream from his shredded throat.

"You filthy whore, you disgusting little faggot, making a scene in my hotel, how dare you, how dare you, get out, get out!"

He flung Charles out of the big glass doors, sending him sprawling on the sidewalk. The pain was so great Charles blacked out again. When he came to he was lying face up on the sidewalk with people walking round him. He tried to call out, but his voice wouldn't work. He grabbed at the legs of passersby, but they brushed him off and one man kicked him in the face with a curse and a look of disgust. It was getting dark. Was it nighttime? If only Erik would come save him. No, Erik didn't love him any more, Erik wouldn't care.

"Mummy, that boy's hurt. Can we help him?"

A little girl in a fluffy pink jacket was staring down at him with a distressed expression. 

"Don't look at him, darling," snapped her mother and tugged her away.

Charles rolled over onto his front, got up on his knees, then stood. He almost fell straight away, but somehow he managed to stay on his feet. Flashing red and blue lights. There were flashing red and blue lights in the road. Ambulance. Hospital.

He staggered out into the road, arms upraised and collapsed on the asphalt. The last thing he heard was the screeching of brakes.

*** * ***

Some small sound roused Janos. He blinked and gazed blearily round the room. Charles' eyes were open. He was awake at last. Janos sat up and gently touched Charles' hands. He flinched away and Janos let go immediately. Charles was trying to say something, but couldn't seem to make a sound. He gestured at his mouth.

"Water, you want water?"

He nodded. Janos filled the plastic cup and held it to his lips. He drank greedily.

"A little at a time, mijo, that's it."

They'd removed the tubes from his throat and nose just the other day. He must be sore as hell and dry as dust. Janos got him a second cup, which he drank more slowly.

"How are you feeling, pequeño?"

"I've felt better," rasped Charles, with a would-be brave smile that broke Janos' heart.

"Are you in pain?"

"Not really."

"They have you on drugs, that line there."

Charles gazed at the cannula blankly.

"Have I been out long?"

"Two days."

"Did . . . did anyone come to visit?"

Janos knew exactly who he meant by 'anyone' and his chest tightened.

"Why, yes. Me, Luiz, Baby and Angel."

A flicker of hurt crossed Charles' face, but he said:

"That's nice."

A nurse came in, asked Charles how he was feeling, looked at his chart and took his pulse and blood pressure. They brought some dinner - soup and jello. Charles didn't want it, but he ate some with a lot of persuading by Janos. There were three others in the room, but they were all very old and very quiet. They chatted softly of nothing in particular. Janos updated him on the various shenanigans of his sisters. Charles kept drifting off as they were talking. By the time visiting hours were over he was fast asleep.

When Janos came in the next morning they were removing Charles' catheter. It obviously hurt, but he didn't make a fuss. Janos had brought some of Charles' books. He gave a tiny cry of joy and pounced on them. He ended up reading "The Once and Future King" aloud to Janos. The old guy in the next bed started paying attention, so Charles turned towards him and spoke a little louder.

"You have a lovely reading voice," said the old man. 

"Thank you."

"Is this your boyfriend?"

Janos braced himself for some homophobic comment, but the old man just looked genuinely curious.

"No, but he's my very good friend," said Charles and pressed his head against Janos' arm.

"Good friends are worth more than gold," said the old guy.

"Well, I don't know about gold, maybe tin," said Charles and they all laughed.

The old guy started talking about his family and showed them pictures of his two daughters and their husbands and children and his son and his boyfriend.

"When Adam came out to us as gay, his momma was so upset because she thought she'd never have grandchildren from him. But you know what? He and Takumi are going to adopt. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Yes, it is," said Charles, face soft and contemplative.

After lunch the doctor came round. He seemed to be pleased with Charles' progress and thought he'd be discharged in two, maybe three days. Janos thought Charles could have done with staying longer, but he didn't have health insurance so no chance of that.

"I want to report it,' said Charles after the doctor had gone.

"Report what happened you mean?"

"Yes. That bastard had done it before and he'll do it again."

"Okay, baby."

Janos called the police, who didn't seem particularly interested. An officer turned up on the morning Charles was due to be discharged. He regarded them with open contempt and got out his notebook with a long-suffering sigh. Charles stumbled through what had happened to him. Janos felt sick and ready to commit murder. Unfortunately Charles hadn't got the registration of the car and he didn't know what make it was. There wasn't any forensic evidence because there'd been some sort of mix-up with the hospital and Charles' clothes had been destroyed.

"If you go to the hotel they might be able to tell you more. You should speak to the concierge. Oh, and they might have CCTV footage."

"Yeah, sure, right," muttered the cop, who hadn't even bother to write down half of what Charles had said.

"Do . . . do you think he'll go to the hotel?"

"That hijo de en cerdo isn't going to do anything but sit on his fat ass," said Janos savagely.

Janos got Charles home safe and sound, but he was in a lot of pain by the time he settled on their sagging sofa. Janos gave him his meds. Over the next few weeks, Janos cooked Charles' favourite meals, let him watch his stupid tv programs, got him to read aloud (they'd finished 'The Once and Future King' and had moved onto "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' which he didn't like so much) and took him for short walks in the local park. Charles lost weight and got paler and paler and quieter and quieter. He was fading away before Janos' eyes. The first thing Janos had noticed about Charles was how vivid he was; his intense eyes, his bright lips and his vibrant personality, so engaged with the world. And now he was turning into a living ghost.

One evening Janos left Charles asleep on the sofa and walked to the local church. He dipped his fingers in the holy water, crossed himself and genuflected. He went straight to the little shrine of the Virgin. He'd lit countless candles for his mother and sisters. This candle was for Charles. He knelt in the flickering dimness. A ray of light picked out the swirling motes of dust in the air and struck gold from the crucifix on the altar.

"Señor Jesucristo, who bled and died for our sins, and Santa Virgen María, mother of us all, I ask your intercession for my friend Charles. He is a beautiful person; kind, gentle and good. He is pure in heart, if not pure in body. What he does is a sin perhaps, but it is not through choice, bad things in his life forced him into it and wasn't the Magdalena the most faithful of followers, even unto the foot of the Cross? A terrible thing was done to him - rain down your vengeance on the guilty pedazo de mierda - and he cannot recover from it. Help him Jesucristo, help him Virgen María, I beg you. He needs hope, he needs it or I do not think he will live."

He walked slowly home. Charles was still asleep. Janos allowed himself to weep over the sleeping form of his dear friend, his hermanito.

A week later his prayer was answered.

One of his regulars was getting dressed as Janos lay on the bed in all his naked glory.

"You know, you're better than this."

So help him if the estúpido told him to repent he'd knock him on his ass.

"You could make so much more money and get your clients vetted for you. Hell, you could even get healthcare."

Janos quirked a curious eyebrow.

"Here."

The trick handed him a black and silver card. On one side it said 'The Frost Agency' in an austerely elegant font. On the other was a phone number. That was it.

"Call her. Seriously. She can put you in touch with the big spenders. She'll take real good care of you."

Janos asked Charles what he thought.

"You might as well call, I suppose," he said in a toneless voice.

Janos called and spoke to a young woman with a honeyed southern accent and made an appointment for the coming Wednesday. That was when he had The Idea.

"You must come with me, Charles."

"No, you don't need me."

"But I do. I am nervous."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"I don't really want to."

Janos put on his best 'hurt' face (he'd learnt it from Charles).

"I thought you were my friend."

Charles sighed.

"Yes, alright, fine."

On Wednesday Janos dressed in charcoal pants and a silver linen shirt with an indigo linen jacket. He insisted that Charles showered and put on his best jeans, a white shirt and the cornflower sweater that brought out the colour of his eyes. He brushed Charles' unruly hair into some semblance of order and even put a little eye makeup on him, just the merest, subtle touch.

Charles muttered and grumbled. He stuck close to Janos on the subway as he wasn't used to being around a lot of people. They made their way to downtown Manhattan and rode up to the thirtieth floor of a smart building. The Frost Agency offices were all marble and glass and vases overflowing with peonies. Janos felt genuinely nervous.

A small hand clasped his.

"You'll be fine," said Charles.

"Of course," replied Janos at his haughtiest.

They checked in with the small, pretty girl at reception whose dark hair was streaked with white. She welcomed them with soft, southern tones and said Ms. Frost would see them shortly.

Janos and Charles sat and waited on a pristine white leather sofa.

The receptionist's phone beeped.

"Ms. Frost will see y'all now."

"Good luck," whispered Charles.

The receptionist escorted him into the office then left. It was huge. All dark wood and white marble. Massive vases of flowers filled the air with scent. Sitting behind an enormous desk was a stunning blonde woman. She stood and took his hand in a firm grip.

"I'm Emma Frost. Call me Emma."

"Janos Quested. Janos."

She sat down and gestured for him to do the same. She had a luscious figure, flawless skin, full features and cool blue eyes. She was wearing a plain white dress that probably cost more than everything Janos owned.

"Let me tell you a little about us. The Frost Agency introduces wealthy, high-profile individuals to attractive, intelligent people. Sometimes this is for an evening. Sometimes it's for a weekend. Sometimes it's for months. Our clients want someone who can hold an intelligent conversation, who'll feel comfortable in any situation, who'll be at home at the grandest charity event or on a casual weekend in the Hamptons. A high level of physical attractiveness is, of course, essential. We vet all our clients thoroughly. We will make all the arrangements and collect the fee. We take fifty percent. I can guarantee you will earn more with us than you are making on your own. You keep any tips or gifts. Oh, we have a health plan too. Now, tell me about yourself, Janos."

He started hesitantly, but soon warmed up. Ms. Frost had a way of asking questions and listening intently that made him want to open up. He even told he about his mother and sisters.

She leaned back in her chair.

"Well, I have to say you sound ideal, Janos. I think you're just the confident, intelligent, attractive young man our clients are looking for. Would you mind undressing?"

Janos had been expecting this. He stripped naked. Ms. Frosts' gaze flickered over his body.

"Excellent, excellent. You can dress now. Marie, my receptionist, will give you all the appropriate paperwork. Take a couple of days to think it over. Oh, one final thing. This is an escort service, our clients are paying for companionship, not sex. I hope that's clear?"

Pants halfway up his thighs, Janos nodded. So, that was how it worked. Of course he'd have sex with the agency's clients, but the agency would disavow all knowledge of any such activity.

As he slipped on his jacket, he said:

"Emma, would you see my friend? He is waiting outside."

She frowned.

"The appointment was just for you, Janos."

"I understand, but you will regret it if you do not see Charles. He is special."

She gave him a considering look.

"You've impressed me. I'll see him."

Janos hurried into the foyer and swept Charles out of his seat.

"What is it? What's happening? Where are you taking me?"

"Ms. Frost wants to talk to you."

"What? No, no, no!"

Janos wrestled him into Emma Frost's office. Charles struggled, but froze at Ms. Frost's dulcet tones.

"Why, Charles, how delightful to meet you. Take a seat."

Trapped by his own politeness, Charles muttered 'hello' and sat down. Frost looked at Janos questioningly. He had to admit, Charles didn't look particularly special. He looked pale and washed-out and he'd obviously been messing with his hair because it was all over the place. Frost started talking. Charles' answers were monosyllabic to start with and he wouldn't meet her eye. Then she started working her magic, with her 'sugar' and 'honey'. Charles' eyes brightened. He moistened his red lips with his pink tongue. His hands darted about as they discussed art, politics and science. And now Charles' magic was working on Frost. She'd been impressed by Janos, but she was warming to Charles.

"Oh, honey, you're not as handsome as your friend here but, boy, do you have the smarts and bucketloads of charm. Plus you've got that vulnerable, little-boy-lost thing going on that the clients are going to eat up. NY high society is gonna love you, sugar."

Charles' face fell.

"No, no, I'm sorry, I can't do it, I can't work for you."

Frost gave him a shrewd look.

"Judging from the accent that keeps fighting past your street talk, you weren't born in poverty. Are you scared of bring recognised, Charles?"

Charles gave an unconvincing laugh.

"What? No! Of course not."

"Because if you are, baby, I've got a brand new branch opening in San Francisco. You're younger than I like, but I'm willing to overlook that and pay your fare to Frisco. I'll put you up somewhere. It'll be basic. What do you say?"

"San Francisco?"

She nodded.

"I . . . I've got some scars."

"Would you mind undressing for me, baby? I won't look till you're ready."

She turned her back.

Gently, oh so gently, Janos helped Charles undress. If Janos ever caught the coño who'd done that to Charles he'd cut off su verga.

"I'm ready," he said in a tiny voice.

Frost walked slowly round him.

"Get dressed, honey," she said softly. "Those will fade, sweetheart, and if a few traces remain, plenty of clients will find it a turn on. So, have we got a deal, sweetie?"

She held out her immaculately manicured hand.

He shook it.

Two weeks later Janos was seeing him off at the airport with his pathetically small suitcase.

"Do not talk to any strange men."

"I won't."

"Do what Ms. Frost's agent tells you."

"I will."

"No drugs. No drink."

"Not even a little drink?"

"Alright, a very little. Eat plenty of fruit and vegetables and protein. Not too many carbs."

"Okay."

"I will come and visit you as soon as I can."

"You must, oh, Janos, you must."

"Go now. Your flight is boarding."

Charles hugged him tight. Janos tucked his head under his chin and hugged him back, his hermanito, his Charles, su Carlos. He kissed the top of his head and sent him on his way, Charles turning and waving until he was out of sight. Janos stepped out into the cold, bright morning. The wind was sharp. That must be why his eyes were watering.

*** * ***

A month passed. Two. Pietro was settling in well. Things weren't perfect of course. They hadn't lived together for years and Pietro was a teenager. All in all though, things were going well. Erik focused fiercely on Pietro and on work. A new project had started. He was worn out, but it stopped him thinking about . . . thinking about . . . Charles. No, no it didn't. He dreamt about him. Blue eyes. Red lips. The look on his face last time Erik had seen him. He couldn't leave it that way. He had to see Charles. He'd grovel at his feet and beg forgiveness. He wanted to help him. If Charles wouldn't take money he'd find some other way. He tried to call him but the number was unrecognised.

He drove to Charles' usual beat. He wasn't there. He waited. One hour. Two. Three. He got out of the car and walked over to the boys displaying themselves under the hard neon of the streetlights.

"Ooo, hello baby. Want to show me a good time?"

"I'm looking for Charles. He's short, pale, dark hair, very red lips and very blue eyes."

"Oh, you mean Carlos. He's gone, baby, skipped town. Onwards and upwards to better things. Signed on with some fancy dancy agency. No need to cry, baby, I can take away your pain."

Erik drove home half blinded by tears.


	9. We meet again

Charles was trying to take a picture of himself against the mock gothic battlements with one of the arches framing the Parliament Building beyond the river and, since he didn't have a selfie-stick, was making a piss poor job of it.

A young woman said something.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," said Charles, making a helpless gesture.

"That's okay, I speak English," replied the young woman in an American accent.

She was about the same height as him, dark skinned, with bright eyes, strong features and an absolute mass of dark red hair, like a thundercloud at sunset.

"I'm trying to frame the Parliament Building behind me."

"Okay, want me to try?"

"Yes please."

He handed her his phone and she took a couple of photos. They put their heads together and looked at them. They were excellent. Much better than anything Charles could have achieved. He was rubbish at photography, even with an excessively expensive phone that was supposed to do it all for him.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm Wanda."

"Charles."

"Are you British?"

He laughed.

"No, everybody thinks that. I spent a lot of my childhood in England and never lost the accent."

His mother had thought it lent a certain cachet.

"I'm American and, if I'm not mistaken, from the same place as you. Do I detect a hint of New York in your accent?"

The girl grinned.

"Yes. Oh, god, I miss New York. Don't get me wrong, Hungary and Budapest are great, but sometimes I long for skyscrapers and a reuben. How's the Big Apple doing?"

"Fine, as far as I know. I've lived in San Franciso for the last two years."

"Ooo, I've never been to Frisco. I'd love to go."

"I like it. I think my favourite thing is all the towns that surround the bay; Sausalito, Tiberon, Larkspur. I stayed on a houseboat on Liberty Dock in Sausilito. It was huge, literally this gigantic six bedroom house, but it went up and down with the tide. You'd look out of the window in the morning and there'd be herons prowling through the mud, then in the evening gulls would be swooping over the water. The nicest thing was the dock. Nobody had any gardens of course so they all put containers outside their houseboats and grew flowers, vegetables, shrubs and even small trees. It was like this linear garden. They'd drape the plants with fairy lights and in the evening the lights would glitter and reflect in the water."

"Oh, see now I wanna go live on a houseboat."

They smiled at each other.

"Are you on your own?"

Charles nodded.

"My partner's busy during the day - work - so I only see him in the evening."

He put a little emphasis on 'him' and watched for her reaction. She didn't even seem to notice.

"If you like I could keep you company?"

He wanted to warn her against trusting strange men, even ones who claimed to be gay, but she was so open and engaging he couldn't bring himself to inflict his bleak realism on her.

"That would be lovely."

She bounced a little with delight.

"Great. Have you walked round the city walls yet?"

"No. We only get here yesterday. We're staying in the Hilton, so as you can see I haven't got very far."

The Hilton was right in the middle of old Buda, next to the cathedral with its thin, soaring spire and gleaming roof of red, green, yellow and black tiles. The old city was on a crag that thrust up above the Danube and looked down on Pest across the river. They regarded the Hilton.

"It's a sort of bland monstrosity, isn't it?" said Charles.

Wanda snorted. "My dad's an architect and every time he sees it he says it makes him want to reach for a bundle of dynamite. Come on, let's get away from it."

She led him round the city walls. There were tremendous views of the river and the bridges and the Parliament Building. Wanda guided him into the old city, along cobbled streets lined with elegant, stuccoed townhouses in shades of umber, ochre and cream. They came out on the other side of the crag. This side of the city was much more hilly and green with parkland. They turned left and kept on going till they came to the complex of extremely grand stone buildings that housed government offices, an art gallery and a museum. Charles had handed his phone over to Wanda and in consequence had a series of beautifully composed photos of all the major landmarks.

As they walked she told him a bit about herself.

"We moved here over two years ago because of my stepfather's job. My brother stayed in New York with my dad. I wanted to come because I'm studying the Slavic languages; Russian, Ukranian, Polish, Czech and Hungarian of course, though Hungarian isn't actually part of the Slavic linguistic family, it's Finno-Ugric."

"Is it just me or is Hungarian really difficult?"

Wanda grinned.

"It's one of the hardest languages for an English speaker to learn because of the spelling, grammar, pronunciation and, well, everything really."

"What a relief. I don't feel quite so stupid now. I tried to learn a few phrases before we came over but it just kept defeating me."

"Don't feel bad. It defeats just about everyone."

"Not you."

"Yeah, well languages are my thing. I speak a little French, German and Spanish too."

Charles gaped at her.

"Now I feel like the typical native English speaker, who can manage restaurant French and ask for beer in several languages."

She laughed.

"If you can ask for beer that's all that matters. Hey, it's getting on for lunchtime. Would you like to come back to my house for lunch? My dad's flown over so mom will be laying on quite a spread."

"Won't she mind having some random stranger thrust on her?"

"She's used to me coming home with random strangers."

How trusting she was. He felt he ought to warn her. No, not his place. No doubt bitter experience would instil some sense into her.

"I'd love to."

"Have you got travel tickets?"

"Yes, I bought a book this morning."

They walked down the steep hill to a busy transport hub, where trains, trams and buses met.

"It's called 'Széll Kálmán tér' now, but it used to be 'Moszkva tér', that's 'Moscow Square'. They changed the name in 2011. Part of the lean towards the west."

They boarded a tram.

"I love trams. I feel like I'm in some sort of Cold War spy thriller and you're my mysterious contact and they're yellow which makes it even better, obviously."

"Obviously," echoed Wanda.

As the tram trundled them towards the suburbs Wanda chatted about exploring her Sinti roots.

"The Sinti are a Romani people of Central Europe. My maternal grandparents were Sinti. I'm Jewish on my father's side. A lot of their history has been lost because they were brutally persecuted. And then there was the Holocaust of course. I've actually experienced some prejudice in Hungary because I look like a 'cigány'."

Charles sighed and shook his head.

"Why are we like this? Honestly, I despair."

"I don't, I fight," said Wanda, looking determined.

"Good for you."

"Here's our stop."

They hopped off the tram in a pleasant, tree-lined street that contoured round a hillside. Wanda led him to a small, modern apartment building and they took the elevator up to the third floor.

"Mom, I'm home and I've brought company."

Wanda led the way into the sitting/dining room. The apartment was open and airy and furnished with an eclectic mix of smart, modern furniture and dark, ornate wooden pieces. A tall woman, taller than Charles, stepped into the room. She was darker skinned than her daughter, with a hawkish nose and imperious air. Her hair was black rather than red - those genes must come from the father - but just as splendid as Wanda's.

"This is Charles, momma, he's from New York too."

"I am Magda." Her English was faintly accented. "I apologise for my child kidnapping you."

"Mom!"

"Always she is bringing these poor, bewildered young people home."

Charles laughed.

"I'm not poor or bewildered, I'm charmed by your kind and friendly daughter."

Magda raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm, it is you who is charming, Charles. Come, eat, there is plenty of food."

She gestured for him to sit at the table. It was covered with dishes; salads, cheeses, cold meats, bread, dumpling type things and savoury pastries. Charles sat and Wanda plonked herself down beside him.

"My husband is at work, but I can provide an ex-husband for your entertainment. Though he is not very entertaining. That is why he is my ex."

A tall, lean man walked in from the kitchen holding a dish of potatoes in both hands.

"Thanks for the introduction, Magda."

His gaze flicked to Charles.

He dropped the dish.

There was a tremendous crash and crockery and potatoes went everywhere.

Erik stared at him like Macbeth at Banquo's ghost while his ex-wife and daughter scurried around picking up smashed china and splattered potatoes. Wanda fetched a bowl of hot water and Magda scrubbed at the floor.

"Move, Erik."

He stepped to one side, eyes never leaving Charles.

Charles was struggling with the conflicting emotions surging through him at the sight of Erik. The first had been joy, sheer joy, then fury at himself for being overwhelmingly happy to see the bastard, then rage at Erik for the way he'd dumped Charles, like an unwanted pet.

He could destroy Erik. With a few well chosen words, he could annihilate him. Acid pooled in his stomach and rose up his throat, into his mouth, ready to spew from his lips.

"We've met before. I was a rent-boy. He paid to fuck me. Want me to describe his cock?"

No, he couldn't, wouldn't say that. Wanda and Magda had done nothing to deserve his venom.

"You must take my word for it that my paprika potatoes are delicious, since Erik decided to feed them to the floor," said Magda. "Also, that was my mother's dish," she added, glaring at Erik.

"Sorry," muttered Erik.

"Sit, sit and eat, though not potatoes."

Everybody sat.

Wanda told her parents about their day.

"I hope she did not bore you too much," said Magda.

"Mom!"

"Wanda didn't bore me at all."

"How long are you in Budapest?"

"Four more days." Charles' experience as a professional courtesan, able to cope with any situation, was kicking in. He risked a quick glance at Erik, who looked shellshocked. "I'm here with my partner, Max."

Erik twitched.

"He's in cyber-security. He's busy during the day so we only meet up in the evening."

"What do you do, Charles?"

"I'm kind of betwixt and between at the moment. I can't make up my mind what to study at college."

This was a total lie. His escort job didn't leave time for college. He was saving an absolute shitload of money though.

"I don't know whether to study medicine or specialise in genetics."

"Go with your heart," said Magda.

"That's not what you said when I wanted to be a clown," said Wanda.

"You were twelve. Also you were not funny and everyone knows clowns are horrific."

"I was an adorable clown and I've got the pictures to prove it."

"And if you are not careful I will show them to Charles."

Everyone laughed, Erik in an entirely unconvincing manner.

"Erik, hand Charles the nokedii."

Nokedii were apparently little dumplings. As Erik passed him the bowl, their fingers brushed. It was only Charles' quick reactions that stopped him dropping the bowl. He remembered those large, tanned hands all over him, those long, elegant fingers buried inside him. Erik was obviously having similar memories based on the colour that painted his cheekbones.

They reminisced about New York, Wanda and Magda highlighted the differences and similarities of living in Budapest, and Charles complimented the food.

"It would have been perfect with my potatoes," said Magda, pointedly.

Wanda giggled, Charles smirked and Erik smiled weakly.

Erik spent the meal in silence. Half the time he stared fixedly at his plate. The other half his gaze was fixed on Charles. Every time their eyes met an electric thrill would run through Charles from top to toe, then Erik would look away. Charles had been used to acting as though things were other than they were since he was a child and that was how he got through lunch as the perfect guest, attentive to his hosts and full of amusing anecdotes. Wanda seemed prepared to be his BFF. Magda looked on him with reserved approval. Erik . . . Erik stared at him like a starving man.

"Hey, Charles, I've got things I've gotta do tomorrow, but I'm free the next day. How about we meet up where we first met at about ten and I'll give you your own personal guided tour? Is there anything you're particularly interested in seeing?" asked Wanda.

"I'm a fan of Secessionist architecture."

"Great, it's a date."

Charles snuck a look at Erik to see how he taking the idea of his daughter wandering the city with his former rent-boy. He didn't look enthused.

Wanda and Magda started clearing up. Charles offered to help but he was told firmly that he was a guest.

"Charles," said Erik, the first time he'd addressed him, "why don't I show you to the tram stop?"

Charles gave his best I-couldn't-give-a-shit shrug.

"Oh, very clever, Erik, thinking you will get out of the washing up, but we will leave all the drying to you," called Magda.

Charles said his goodbyes. Wanda hugged him, enveloping him in a cloud of sweetly scented hair. Magda clasped his shoulder. Erik escorted him out of the door. They rode down in the elevator in silence. Erik seemed to be having some kind of internal struggle. He kept going to speak, then compressing his lips into a tight line. Charles felt . . . he felt . . . he felt high and light and fizzing and on the verge of losing control. As they walked down the street, Erik reached out to take his arm. Charles jerked away and snarled:

"Don't touch me, you shit!"

"I have to see you again, I have to. Please, Charles, please."

They were at the tram stop. A tram was coming.

"I'm begging you. Do you want me to get down on my knees? I will."

And there in the street, oblivious to stares, Erik knelt.

Charles stared at him in silence. Erik looked agonised. Good. Charles half wanted to punch him in the face and half longed to kiss him senseless. The tram pulled up. The doors clanked open. People got on. People got off. And there was Erik, ridiculously on his knees. Charles got onto the tram. Erik stood. He seemed on the verge of tears or violence. Charles scribbled on a piece of paper and held it up to the window.

'21 1300 tomorrow'

Erik pressed his hand to the glass and smiled the most glorious smile. The tram moved off, Erik damn near falling under its wheels.

'21' was a well known restaurant in the centre of the old city. Charles spent the rest of the journey back to 'Széll Kálmán tér' torn between joyous anticipation and hideous foreboding.


	10. Dining out in Budapest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who do you think Max is based on?

Charles was in no mood for further sightseeing when he got back to the hotel. He went up to their suite, ran a bath, dumped a bottle of bubble bath into it and climbed into the mountain of fragrant suds with his iPad. He wanted to Skype Janos, but he knew exactly what he'd say. He'd tell Charles not to meet Erik, he wasn't worth it, he'd brought Charles nothing but trouble, he was just a trick and Charles could do so much better. The problem was Charles knew all this already and didn't want to hear it said out loud.

He googled Raven instead. Since Raven had turned sixteen she'd started showing up on the gossip sites. She was young, beautiful, rich and wild; just what they wanted. There were pics of her at various events; attending galas, partying, playing tennis, riding and on fancy yachts. There were articles about her clothes and makeup and hair and love life. There were pap shots of her drunkenly staggering out of clubs, falling out of cars, kissing various handsome young men and, on one occasion, snogging a staggeringly beautiful young woman. None of this worried Charles. She was a teenager. This was the sort of stuff she was supposed to be doing. She looked happy, mostly. That was all Charles cared about. He wasn't proud of much in his life, but he was proud he'd played some part in keeping Raven safe and happy. Sometimes it hurt to look at the photos because he couldn't be with her. Sometimes it cheered him up.

He searched for her latest pic and laughed out loud. Raven was wearing a skin tight cat-suit in a cobalt blue, scaled fabric. She wore a bright red, pixie cut wig and golden contact lenses. She looked like a glamorous snake and was scowling ferociously at the paparazzi.

"Raven or reptile?" read the caption.

He put the iPad to one side. Thoughts of Erik came surging back. Charles scrabbled around in his wash bag and unearthed his largest dildo. He soaped it up and slid it inch by inch into his arse. He closed his eyes and reached for his cock. He imagined long fingers stroking him off, while a giant cock breached him and prodded his prostate.

"Erik, Erik," he moaned.

"You're so beautiful, Charles. Perfection, absolute perfection. I love you. I always have. I always will. I'll never leave you again," whispered imaginary Erik.

Charles gasped and shot come across the scented bubbles.

He lay there for a while longer, feeling oddly tearful, then hauled himself out of the bath - he was turning into a prune.

He dried off, put some music on - vintage Chemical Brothers, a client had turned him on to them - and danced round the room naked. He dressed with care. Tight, white briefs. Dove grey pants. Madonna blue shirt in the finest cotton. A single lapis lazuli ear stud with a matching necklet of brilliant blue beads. His stainless steel Ebel watch. Charcoal slip-ons. Just the merest smudge of eyeliner.

He went down to the bar to wait for Max. He was on his second gin and tonic when he turned up. Max wasn't big on PDA - he was old fashioned that way - but his eyes showed just what he thought of Charles' outfit. Charles preened a little. Max grabbed his G&T and drained it.

"Max!"

"Sorry, baby, but you wouldn't believe the idiots I've had to deal with today. They flat out told me 'our cyber-security is second to none, we don't need your services, we only saw you because so-and-so recommended you'. I swear to god, Charles, a motivated eight year old could've hacked them. Hell, a well informed grandma could've taken them down."

Charles laughed.

"I let my man Armando loose on their system. In a couple of hours he'd got into their customer records and in another half hour he had all their payment details. That shut them up."

"So, a contract is in the offing?"

"Yep. Now we negotiate."

"I'm so pleased for you, darling."

"Thanks, baby. Let's go to dinner."

They weren't eating in the hotel; Max abominated hotel restaurants. They walked to the restaurant - Alabardos - as it was only a couple of streets away and it was a lovely spring evening. It was in an ancient building with a courtyard filled with shrubs in pots. Inside, the uneven walls were whitewashed and lined with old, dark, wooden furniture. The food was expensively exquisite.

Max was a vigorous man in his late fifties. He had a mane of white hair and a body guys decades younger would've killed for. Charles genuinely liked him. He'd built up his company from nothing, but wasn't one of those 'if I can do it, anyone can do it' assholes. He funded several scholarships for disadvantaged young people and invested in local businesses. He was intelligent and cultured, but had never lost his street smarts.

He started talking about Hungary joining the EU and how he wasn't sure it was ready economically or politically. Charles had done a bit of reading up about the country and immediately started putting the counter arguments. Unlike most of his clients, who wanted him to smile and agree with their every word, Max liked being argued with. Charles had discovered that he had a natural flair for debating. He was good at constructing a solid premise and equally good at spotting the weaknesses in his opponent's arguments. Max got passionate when he argued, raising his voice and banging his hand on the table. Charles got colder and colder until he was at absolute zero. Several fellow diners were looking at them with a degree of alarm.

"No dessert, no coffees, just the bill," said Max.

He marched Charles back to the hotel with an iron grip on his arm. As soon as they got into the suite, he swept Charles off his feet, carried him into the bedroom and hurled him onto the bed. Charles bounced up onto his feet, eyes fierce and body tensed for combat. What happened next was something like all-in wrestling that ending with energetic, enthusiastic fucking.

The first time Max had taken off his clothes in front of Charles and he'd seen the scars that covered Max's body, he'd said nothing and touched Max's flesh, scarred and unscarred, with impartial tenderness. Afterwards, Max had run his fingers over the barely perceptible silvery lines that crisscrossed Charles' back and whispered:

"You understand."

Max had hired him half a dozen times now and Charles knew his tastes intimately. Max liked a fight, so Charles fought. Max was much stronger than him, so Charles fought dirty; biting, kicking, gouging and going for the genitals. Tonight it ended as it always did; with Charles pinned. Tonight he was face down and ass up.

"Jesus, Charles, your ass is the eighth wonder of the world."

"Well then, you should honour my arse as it deserves."

"Oh, I'll honour it alright, baby."

Charles heard the pop of the lube cap and faint squelching noises as Max prepped himself. Then a large finger tapped at his entrance and gently pushed in. Charles let out a long exhale. Max worked him up to three fingers, by which time Charles was desperate for dick.

"Max," he whined.

"Here it comes, baby, here it comes."

The blunt head nudged at his hole. Charles bore down and it popped in. Lovely. Max started thrusting, slow at first, but building up the pace and force until he was pushing Charles up the bed. Charles lost himself in the drag and slide of Max's cock. He collapsed under the onslaught. Max hauled him up and shoved a couple of pillows under his hips. Charles was close. He was going to come with his cock untouched. He clenched down on the big prick deep inside him. Christ, the friction was delicious.

Max's cock was almost as big as Erik's.

It was that thought that brought him off.

Max cleaned them both up with big, gentle hands.

"What's got into you?"

"Your cock."

Max laughed.

"You know that's not what I mean. You were on fire."

Charles hesitated.

"I met someone today, someone from my past. It stirred up a lot of memories."

"Good memories? Bad memories?"

"Mixed. I . . . I arranged to meet him for lunch tomorrow. If you tell me not to go, I won't."

"Are you planning on fucking him?"

"Good heavens, no! Fucking with him, oh yes."

Max chuckled.

"Good heavens. I swear, Charles, sometimes you sound like an Edwardian novel. Okay, baby, you go give him hell."

Charles smiled like Lucifer himself.

"I'm going to annihilate the bastard."

*** * ***

Erik lay awake in Magda's spare room for hours, thoughts circling endlessly round Charles. When he'd seen him, sitting at his ex-wife's dining table, a fiery rose of joy had bloomed in his chest. Joy and arousal. He'd wanted to sweep the dishes onto the floor and take Charles there and then on the table. Joy had been replaced by terror, fear of what Charles might say. But he'd remained silent. Erik had burned with jealousy when he'd spoken of a partner. He'd tried not to stare, but his gaze was drawn inexorably back. He'd looked fantastic. He'd filled out a little. He was still slim, but there was some muscle under those expensive clothes. His pale skin glowed. His blue eyes sparkled. His red lips looked plump and soft. Too soon it was time for him to go and Erik couldn't let him walk out of his life again. He'd walked him to the tram stop, desperately trying to think what to say. In the end, he'd begged and knelt and Charles had granted him mercy.

He made some excuse to Magda and Wanda about going out at lunchtime to pick up a few bits and pieces he'd forgotten to bring with him. He wore his black jeans and the black shirt Wanda said made him look cool and his most expensive aftershave. He got to '21' early. The restaurant had a modern interior inside an old building. There were huge glass windows that could be opened up all the way in the summer. Since it was spring, they were half open, letting a mild breeze meander through the interior. The maitre d' seated Erik, who explained he was waiting for someone and ordered a vodka on the rocks.

One o'clock came and went. Quarter past. Half past. Erik ordered another drink and crunched his way through the ice cubes in a fever of anxiety. Quarter to two. He wasn't coming. He'd stood Erik up and was laughing about it with this Max person. He'd never see Charles again. His life was meaningless and the universe was an uncaring void.

At precisely two o'clock, exactly one hour late, Charles strolled through the door. Erik leapt to his feet. The maitre d' brought Charles to the table.

"Charles, Charles," said Erik like a moron.

"Hello, Erik." His voice was cool, uninterested. "Am I late?"

"No. I mean yes, but it's fine."

He sat and crossed one ankle over the other, looking impossibly elegant. Erik felt like a flustered teenager, with sweat gathering in his armpits. Charles was wearing silvery-grey linen pants and a sweater in a fine, lilac wool. It clung to him lovingly. More than anything in the world Erik wanted to run his fingers over the feather soft surface and feel the firm muscle beneath.

A waiter appeared.

"Would sir like anything to drink?"

"Hmm, how about a bottle of your finest champagne? This is in the nature of a reunion, after all."

His rosy red lips curled in a satirical smile. He sat there, looking at Erik with cold, cold eyes.

"So . . . er . . . um . . . how are you, Charles?"

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Is that really how you're going to begin?"

"Er . . . I . . . I . . . "

"I was anticipating something in the nature of an apology."

It all came flooding back to Erik. How he'd ended it with Charles, cock still up his ass, and then offered him money. He clenched his fists and bit his lip.

"You're right. I should start with an apology. I'm not going to apologise for ending it. How could I in all conscience have carried on a relationship with you when I had a son your age at home? But the way I ended it . . . You gave yourself entirely to me that night and I threw it back in your face. I didn't even have the courtesy to withdraw from you before I did it. I didn't give you a proper explanation. I didn't give you the chance to question me. And then I offered you money. I like to think I never treated you like a whore, but I did that night. I didn't mean to. I wanted to make things easy for you. I wanted you to be able to take a break from work, but I know it didn't come across that way, it seemed like I was paying you off. I can't imagine the damage I did to you that night, Charles, the pain and grief I caused you. And for that I can never apologise enough."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Charles, coolly, but there were tears in his eyes.

Erik felt a powerful urge to cry himself, but swallowed down his sorrow.

"How can I make it up to you, Charles?"

"You can buy me lunch for a start."

"Of course."

They sat in silence for a while, Erik gazing at Charles and Charles gazing out of the window. The waiter came over and asked if they were ready to order. Charles ordered the most expensive thing on the menu and Erik had steak.

"You . . . you look well Charles."

"I am well."

"I hope you're happy."

"Perfectly, thanks."

"What have you been up to?"

"I'm living in San Francisco now. Working for an escort agency."

"So Max is a client?"

Charles turned the full force of his blue gaze on Erik.

"Oh, Max is so much more than a client. He's more of a friend. A very good friend. He's been so kind to me. He's flown me all over the world, put me up in the best hotels, wined and dined me. He bought me this watch and this chain. He treats me like I'm the most precious thing in the world. We talk for hours and he really listens to me, really values my contribution. With Max I forget I'm an escort and I feel like we're . . . well . . . lovers."

Erik gritted his teeth. A hot wave of jealousy washed over him.

"He's amazing in bed. Last night, after I saw you, he just overwhelmed me. Pinned me down and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. His stamina is incredible. He can keep it up for hours. Fuck me into the mattress. Hell, fuck me right through the mattress. We had an extraordinary session last night. I think it was something to do with seeing you. It made me want a proper seeing to and Max gave it to me. He reamed me out and filled me up and made me come like a train."

Erik dug his fingernails into his thighs. He could picture it, this big guy fucking the living daylights out of Charles and Charles loving it. He remembered the noises Charles made when he came; soft, obscene sounds that drove Erik mad.

"I think Max might be going to make me an offer, make things permanent, exclusive. I'd like that. I need someone to take care of me, someone who'll put me first and be the partner I deserve."

"I can be that man," blurted out Erik.

Charles laughed, light and scornful.

"Oh, Erik, don't be ridiculous. You dumped me as soon as your son came to stay. You were terrified I'd say something at Magda's house. You're ashamed of me."

"I'm not ashamed of you, Charles, I'm ashamed of me."

"And so you should be. You treated me like shit. Max values me. Fuck it, my other clients treat me better than you did. You don't deserve my forgiveness and you don't have it."

"I . . . "

At this point the waiter arrived with their food.

Erik chewed on a piece of excellent steak, unable to swallow it. Charles tucked into his food with gusto, making appreciative noises. He drank glass after glass of champagne, getting increasingly tipsy.

"Honestly, one of the best things about Europe is that you can legally drink at eighteen. Really, twenty-one is ridiculous. Ooo, this fish is delicious and the champagne is divine. Veuve Cliquot is my absolute fave. You know, Erik, I think you should meet Max, I really do. I think you'd like him, well, apart from the whole jealousy thing. He's a great guy. Such a sweetheart. And unlike you, not ashamed of what he is. Mmm, these bubbles are tickling my nose."

He giggled, a sound that went straight to Erik's cock.

"I've had such a wonderful time since last I saw you. I adore San Francisco. I went to Pride last year and it was a complete riot. Haven't missed you at all. Haven't even thought of you. Haven't had time. Too busy enjoying myself. Oh, and the lovely waiter has poured me another grass, I mean glass. What a darling."

Erik knew he should be happy that Charles was happy, but the idea of Charles never giving him a thought when Erik had been thinking of him almost every day over the last couple of years was acid in his gut.

Charles had a huge, elaborate pudding, followed by an Irish coffee. Erik had an espresso with two sugar lumps. Somehow it still tasted bitter.

"Oh, I must get back. Mustn't miss Max."

The bill was enormous.

Erik knew it was pathetic, he knew Charles had moved on from him, never thought of him, had replaced him with Max, but he couldn't help asking.

"Charles, could I . . . could we keep in touch?"

Wordlessly Charles handed him a card and trotted off down the street. He was a little unsteady on his feet. Erik watched him until he disappeared from sight. He didn't look back.

Erik looked at the black and silver card.

'The Frost Agency'

*** * ***

Charles had to have a bit of a lie down when he got back to the hotel suite. Drunken thoughts of Erik careered through his head. The look on his face when Charles had talked about Max. How humble he'd been. How hopeless. Fuck, he'd looked hot though, all in black. Charles would've had a wank but he felt a teeny tiny tad worn out.

He woke to find Max sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at him.

"How did your lunch go?"

"Great, I destroyed him."

"Do you feel better?"

"No, no, I feel worse."

Charles burst into tears. Max took him in his arms, held him close to his muscular chest and stroked his hair.

"I lied to him. I told him I never thought of him. I made out you and I were a thing. He was so unhappy."

"Hush now, hush baby."

Gradually Charles' tears stopped flowing.

Max kissed him, soft and sweet. Charles responded. Max stripped him, kissing every inch of flesh as it was revealed. Big, scarred, calloused hands touched his body so tenderly. Charles felt fragile, an alpine flower in the grasp of a bear. Max grabbed some lube and grasped their cocks together. Hot flesh slid on hot flesh. Charles gasped and clung to Max as though he was the one solid thing in a world of mist and smoke. Max tightened his hold.

"Let me hear you, baby."

Charles moaned and begged and pleaded for release. Max brought them to the edge time and time again, then backed them down. Finally, when Charles thought he'd pass out with frustration, Max stroked their cocks in a fast, powerful rhythm and they came together, Charles sinking his teeth into Max's shoulder.

They lay together, Charles cradled by Max's massive, scarred body.

As he drifted off to sleep he heard Max whisper:

"In another life I'd do everything in my power to make you love me, but I'm too old and damaged and you're too young and damaged and you're not meant for me."


	11. Home cooking in Budapest

Max was long gone when Charles woke up. He'd left a note on Charles' pillow.

'Enjoy yourself with your ex's baby girl' and a picture of a cheeky devil wiggling its butt.

Charles laughed, kissed the devil's arse and leapt out of bed. He was hellish late. He had a lightening quick shower and pulled on jeans, pristine white Converse, a pristine white tee, his favourite dark-olive-green leather jacket and a long strand of brightly coloured beads. Wanda was sitting on the battlements looking down at the Danube waiting for him. She hugged him.

"Your hair is wet."

"I overslept."

She gave him a sly grin.

"Max keeping you up?"

Charles gave her a filthy grin back.

"Yes. Want me to embarrass you with the details?"

She looked comically alarmed.

"Ew, no! Ready for the patented Maximoff-Lehnsherr guided tour?"

"Yes indeedy."

Wanda took him to places he'd known about, but also buildings he'd never have discovered on his own. Best of all, one of her college buildings was a fine example of Secessionist architecture and she took him all round it. The interior detailing was exquisite, but everywhere there was peeling paint, dust, rot and cobwebs.

"Sorry it's so run down."

"No, I like it, the deterioration, the decay. It's one of the things I loved about Venice."

"Jesus, Charles. Is there anywhere you haven't been?"

"I have been spoiled when it comes to travel."

"Did Max take you?"

Actually it had been another client, but Charles wasn't going to tell her that, so he made a vaguely affirmative noise.

Wanda took him to Café Gerbeaud for lunch, a grand old place, all mirrors and red velvet and gilding.

"It's very touristy but their dobos torta is delish."

They both had salade niçoise then dobos torta to follow, a layered sponge cake with chocolate, caramel and hazelnut. Charles licked the plate.

"You know where we should go? The Gellert Hotel and Spa. You can swim in a Secessionist palace."

"I don't have any trunks."

"And I don't have a swimsuit. We can buy them there."

"Well, I'm certainly up for exposing my body to an admiring public."

Wanda giggled.

The took the subway - which seemed very narrow to Charles - to the Chain Bridge and walked the short distance to the hotel-spa. Charles bought himself a pair of comically tiny Speedos and they changed in the separate changing rooms. Wanda had a white one-piece that contrasted spectacularly with her dark skin. Charles was startled to be reminded of her father's build by her broad shoulders, narrow waist and snake hips.

"Damn, Charles, you're ripped."

He laughed.

"Hardly."

It was true that, though he was slim, he had quite a lot of muscle definition. His clients expected a high level of bodily beauty and he'd spent many a stultifying hour in the gym in consequence.

"Could those trunks be any smaller?"

"They are ridiculously small, aren't they? Any smaller and I'd be done for indecent exposure. Now, let's explore."

The baths were magnificent, with towering columns, vaulted ceilings and gorgeous tile work in blues and greens. There were large pools for swimming, baths with naturally heated thermal waters and icy plunge pools. There were outdoor baths as well, but both of them felt it was a bit too cold to go outside. They wandered around, admiring the architecture, cooking themselves in the hot baths and shrieking as they leapt into the freezing plunge pools. As Wanda clambered out of one pool, she slipped on the wet tiles and bumped into a nondescript middle-aged man.

"Sajnálom," said Wanda.

"Cigány csikó," snarled the man and spat at Wanda's feet.

Charles went cold with rage. He shoved the man off balance, swept his legs from under him and gave him a good clout to the side of the head as he went down.

"Got anything else you want to say? Go on, because I'd love an excuse to beat the crap out of you, you fucking shit," hissed Charles.

For a moment the man seemed like he might fight back, but Charles must have looked fit to murder him because he got up and slunk off, muttering what were no doubt insults.

"Are you okay?" asked Charles in his gentlest voice, turning to Wanda.

She was looking at him like he was Captain America or something.

"That was amazing. You totally kicked his ass. You scared the shit out of him. Those were some moves. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Max is into martial arts. He's taught me a few tricks."

Emma also offered unarmed combat training to her escorts. With bitter memories of being unable to defend himself, Charles had taken full advantage.

"Thank you so much Charles, for standing up for me, for fighting for me."

He blushed.

"Honestly, it was nothing. Let's not talk about it any more. Where shall we go now?"

Wanda gave him a huge hug and kissed his cheek.

"Let's go and be touristy."

They took the subway back to the one of the main shopping streets, parts of which were exceedingly touristy. Charles had never spent much time with people his own age. His clients were all considerably older then him and he was the youngest of The Frost Agency's escorts. Wanda seemed so carefree, so bright and funny and foolish. They spent rest of the day trying on increasingly ludicrous outfits and, in Charles case, buying hideous souvenirs. He was particularly proud of the statue of Lenin smoking a massive blunt.

They parted in Széll Kálmán tér.

"Hey, Charles, would you like to come to dinner on your last night?"

"I'd love to, but it seems a bit much to dump poor old Max."

"He can come too."

Charles imagined Max and Erik in the same room. Hmm, that would be interesting.

"Are you sure? I don't want it impose on Magda."

"It's dad's last day too, so she'll be laying on a feast. Besides, she likes you."

"Alright then, it's a date. Thank you, Wanda, you're a sweetie. Here, these are for you."

He lifted the beads over his head and lowered them over Wanda's.

"Oh, Charles, they're so pretty, thank you so much."

"You're welcome for making me feel so welcome."

They hugged and waved goodbye and Charles toiled up the steep hill to the old town. The beads were antique semi-precious stones and rather expensive, but he wouldn't have told Wanda that in a million years. He was his mother's son in some ways; you never talked about the price of anything.

He barely beat Max to the bar. He had a super quick wash and change - Max liked him to look his best - and was a vision in fitted black pants, white shirt and tight, black waistcoat, with white gold cufflinks and a dangling earring. They ate at '21' and Charles told Max all about his day - except the incident at the baths. Just thinking about Wanda being insulted left a nasty taste in Charles' mouth and made his fists clench.

"But I'm doing all the talking, darling. How was your day?"

"Truthfully, I'd rather listen to you talk. Having decided that they need my company's help after all, they're now trying to negotiate an insanely cheap deal. We may not be coming out of this with a contract after all."

"Does that mean you won't be able to keep me in the style to which I've become accustomed?"

Max regarded him fondly.

"You mercenary lil shit."

"Not mercenary, darling, just fully aware of my own value."

"Your price is beyond rubies."

"Isn't that from the bible? How blasphemous! I'm deeply shocked."

Max looked at him consideringly.

"Could anything shock you, Charles?"

Charles thought about everything he'd been through in his life.

"No. No, I don't think it could."

They were silent for a moment, then, in his most casual tone, Charles said:

"Oh, by the way, we've been invited to the Maximoff-Lehnsherr's for dinner the day after tomorrow."

He fixed an innocent gaze on Max, who regarded him suspiciously.

"Charles, are you using me to make your ex jealous?"

"Good lord, no. I'm offended that you'd even suggest such a thing. I just thought you'd like to meet the young lady who's been so sweet to me and her lovely family. Her mother's cooking is delicious and oh, alright then, I totally, totally want you to make Erik jealous, I'm a bad person, what can I say. I know it's petty and I've already been horrible to him over lunch, but I can't resist causing a little more mayhem in his heart and other regions."

"You are a terrible person, but do you think that, as well as tormenting him, a little part of you just wants to see him?"

Charles turned his wine glass between his fingers, wondering how to answer, then met Max's eyes.

"Yes, I do want to see him."

"And on my buck. No, it's okay, baby, I know nothing's going on but a whole lot of UST for this Erik guy. You know I'd almost feel sorry for him if he hadn't hurt you so badly. Alright, I'll come to dinner."

They walked back to the hotel arm in arm in companionable silence. When they got back to the room, Charles modelled his tiny Speedos for Max, who took them off with his teeth.

*** * ***

When Wanda told them she'd invited Charles and Max to dinner, Erik was struck by two conflicting emotions; giddy, helpless joy at seeing Charles again and a clenching in the gut at the thought that Max would be with him.

Erik spent the next day with Wanda and Magda at Margaret Island, forcing himself to concentrate on them and not think about Charles.

He was restless on the day of the dinner, trying to work on-line and failing miserably. That afternoon he and Wanda took a tram to the old town and wandered the cobbled streets. He half expected to see Charles walking round a corner. Charles was, in fact, investigating the Hungarian National Gallery. That evening he dressed with unusual care in navy pants and a dark purple shirt. He hung around the kitchen, ostensibly helping, but really just getting in the way. Eventually Magda ordered him out.

"Lay the table if you want to do something useful."

Erik spread out the lace tablecloth that had belonged to Magda's mother. He put a vase of pink tulips in the centre. He laid out the carved wood tablemats, the best blue and white china, the silver plated cutlery, the red cut-glass wine glasses and the silver rimmed water glasses, with the big water jug. He opened the wine and poured it into the silver topped decanter.

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," sang out Wanda.

Erik listened to the greetings in the hall and the rustlings of clothes being removed. Charles' cultured tones. And a deeper voice. Max. Erik gritted his teeth. They came into the dining room. All he could see was Charles; ivory skin, chestnut hair, bright eyes, cherry lips. He was wearing black pants and a cinched in black waistcoat over a silky mauve shirt. An amethyst glittered in his ear. He looked like sin personified.

"Charles."

"Erik, wasn't it?"

His handshake was a brief brush of fingers, then he was greeting Magda.

"Hi, I'm Max."

"Erik."

Max took his hand in a bruising grip. He was much the same height as Erik, with a shock of silver hair, barely tamed, and built like a brick shit-house. He looked like he could bench press Erik. Much as Erik hated to admit it, he was a handsome man.

"Erik, where are your manners? Offer our guests drinks," said Magda. "I am Magda. Welcome to my home."

"Thank you for inviting me, ma'am," said Max.

"Ma'am? Oh no, please, you make me feel like my grandmother."

Max laughed.

"I'm the only one old enough be a grandparent round here," he said, kissing her hand.

"Hmm, but you do not look like one," she replied, with a sly smile.

Fuck. His ex-wife was flirting with his ex-rent-boy's current client.

"Drinks?' he said loudly.

Max had vodka on the rocks and Charles had a gin and tonic. Erik had a vodka too and made it a double as he felt he was going to need it. At that point Frank arrived home and there was a whole new round of introductions. Erik didn't mind Frank. He was a large, stolid man, patient and kind, if rather dull. When Magda lost it, instead of getting swept up in it and escalating things as Erik used to, he stayed calm and let the storm rage itself out. Magda, Wanda, Max and Charles were all talking nineteen to the dozen. Erik felt a headache coming on.

"They sure take up a lot of airtime, don't they?" said Frank, sounding amused.

"Fuck, yes," muttered Erik, not at all amused. 

There was a second round of drinks before dinner. Charles was sparkling as brightly as the jewel in his ear, giggling and waving his hands around and being very touchy feely with everyone, particularly Max. Erik stood to one side with Frank and seethed.

"Dinner is served," announced Magda.

Charles was seated between Wanda and Max. Erik was on the other side of the table next to Magda and Frank. He poured the wine. Wanda got half a glass despite her pleading.

The first course was spicy sausage and bean soup served in a hollowed out loaf. Charles ate like a starved wolf. Erik remembered that about him. Most of them didn't manage to finish the bread, but Charles scoffed the lot, licking his lips in a highly disturbing manner.

The main was a traditional goulash, with rice, pasta and various vegetables on the side.

Erik's enjoyment of the rich stew was spoiled by Max constantly touching Charles throughout the meal. Nothing major, just a large hand atop Charles' small, stubby fingers, a finger tenderly brushing a wisp of dark hair from a pale cheek, the squeeze of a shoulder and a thumb caressing the nape of a slim neck. Every touch was sandpaper on Erik's nerve endings.

Wanda had finished her wine and begged some more from Erik. He gave her a thimbleful. She scowled at him and Charles giggled and nudged her and Erik's pulse skyrocketed. He emptied his glass and poured himself another. A generous one.

"Oh, I never told you what Charles did."

"Wanda, please, don't," said Charles, blushing a beautiful rosy red.

"We were at the Gellert and I bumped into this guy and he called me a gypsy slut - "

Erik and Magda's eyes met. Frank had never really understood the prejudice Wanda and Magda faced as Sinti or that Erik encountered as a Jew.

" - and Charles knocked him on his ass and told him he'd beat the crap out of him if he said another word. It was epic. The guy scrabbled off like the rat he was. Charles was amazing. My hero."

Charles' blush deepened and he muttered something incomprehensible.

Magda got up and gave him a crushing hug. Frank reached across the table and patted his shoulder. Max kissed the top of his head. Wanda, Magda and Frank, at Magda's command, went to get the pudding. Max disappeared to the bathroom. Erik leaned across the table and took both Charles' hands in his. Charles went to pull away, but stilled when he saw Erik's face.

"Thank you, Charles. Thank you for protecting my little girl."

"It was nothing," said Charles softly.

"No, it was everything. I can't tell you how grateful I am."

They gazed at each other. Gone was the cool, detached, untouchable young man of the other day. Charles' expression was warm and soft and his eyes glistened with tears. Erik felt as painfully, hopelessly in love with him as he had two years ago.

"Charles, I - "

Max walked in.

Erik let go of Charles hands, though it damn near killed him to do it.

Frank walked in carrying a couple of candelabra, followed by Magda with the pudding and Wanda with a jug of cream. The desert was pavlova with strawberries, raspberries and cherries. Wanda turned the lights down and they ate by candlelight. Erik broke out the tokaji. He and Charles drank most of it. Charles kept on catching his eye, then looking away again, then being drawn back to him. Erik hadn't the faintest idea what the conversation was about. He made the odd interested noise every now and then, but all his focus was on Charles.

Magda served coffee. Everybody leant back in their chairs, warm and full and mellow. Wanda had snaffled the last bit of tokaji Erik and Charles hadn't drunk.

The candlelight flickered over Charles' face. He looked timeless. Some aristocrat from the 17th century. A renaissance prince. A young Roman emperor. A Greek euphebe. Erik felt drunk and strangely happy. Charles glanced at him and a sweet, fleeting smile curved his lips.

Max had to go to the bathroom again.

"One of the pleasures of aging," he said.

As soon as he left the room, Magda turned to Charles and said:

"So, he is old, but virile. I think you are a lucky boy, Charles."

"Magda!" protested Frank.

"Is there some kind of a sugar daddy thing going on there?" added Wanda.

Charles howled with laughter. He caught Erik's eye and with the wickedest smile whispered:

"Shhh, don't tell, but there might be something like that going on."

"You two are terrible," complained Frank, "aren't they, Erik?"

"Terrible," agreed Erik, but he was locking gazes with Charles.

"So, y'all been talking about me while I was gone?" said Max, coming back into the candlelit room.

Everyone, even Erik, laughed.

It was gone midnight by the time Max and Charles got up to go back to their hotel. Wanda got Max's coat and Erik fetched Charles' woollen jacket. He helped Charles into it, the backs of his fingers brushing Charles' shoulder blades. Everybody hugged. Erik embraced Charles all too briefly. How perfectly he fitted into Erik's arms, head tucking under Erik's chin, glossy hair tickling Erik's throat. As he released him, Max gave him a shrewd look.

Erik lay awake for hours.

*** * ***

Charles bade Max a fond farewell at San Francisco International Airport.

"Oh, got you this, babe," said Max.

Charles opened the little, silk-wrapped box. A sapphire ear stud glinted on a bed of midnight blue velvet.

"Max, I've got the full set now," squealed Charles and hugged the big man ruthlessly.

"I'll be calling the Agency real soon, Charlie boy."

"Already looking forward to it.'

His business phone rang in the taxi on the way home to his tiny, book-crammed apartment. Emma.

"Jesus, Frost, you slave-driver. I've barely recovered from one lot of fucking when you're lining me up for another."

She laughed.

"I thought you'd want this one, honey. Guy wants you take you to the Post Ranch Inn for a long weekend."

The Post Ranch Inn was on Big Sur and had featured in the top ten American luxury hotels for years. Charles had never been there.

"Ooo, sounds interesting. Who is he?"

"I haven't quite finished checking him out, but he seems legit so far. His name's Erik Lehnsherr. Charles? Charles? Sugar? Have you dropped the phone?"


	12. Beautiful things happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the tumblr anon who gave me the idea for the Sexy Times <3

Erik leant against the yellow jeep outside the car rental place, waiting for Charles.

After he'd called The Frost Agency he'd been on tenterhooks, more than half convinced Charles would refuse. When he'd accepted, Erik had been as wrong footed as the school bad boy being kissed by the prom queen.

Now he was waiting for him again, feeling like a teenager on his first date. Five minutes late, a taxi drew up and Charles hopped out with his suitcase.

"Charles," said Erik, and almost without thinking went in for a hug.

Charles backed off and Erik was left with his arms outstretched.

"Hello, Erik."

Erik stared at Charles. He was dressed in jeans, plaid shirt and denim jacket; very outdoorsy if you ignored the designer labels. Charles stared at the jeep.

"Goodness, that's an excessively yellow car."

"Yellow? Is it? Yes, yes, of course it is."

Smooth, Lehnsherr.

"It'll be like driving around in a giant banana."

"Giant banana, ha ha, yes."

Could he sound any more stupid? Charles was biting his lip, obviously amused by Erik's awkwardness. Erik loaded his case into the car and they climbed in. The first quarter of an hour was taken up with route finding, Erik paying close attention to the sat nav. Once they got onto Highway 1, he relaxed. Charles had wound the window down. It wasn't hot so Erik hadn't got the air con on. The breeze ruffled his dark hair and he leant his cheek on his hand, stubby fingers idly tapping at damask skin. Erik kept going to speak, then stopping. Finally he managed:

"Charles, I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you this weekend."

Charles turned to him.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, anything."

"Anything?"

He looked so innocent Erik knew he was taking the piss.

"Sex," blurted out Erik, unnecessarily loudly.

Fuck.

"Oh, sex. That's just as well because our contract states quite clearly that The Frost Agency provides companionship only."

"Well, yes, but I know there's an assumption that . . . that sex will . . . will happen and I just wanted to say I'm not expecting that."

Charles was biting his lip again, the lil shit.

The further they drove from San Francisco, the higher the hills soared on their left and the more the cliffs fell away to their right. The weather hadn't been particularly hot so everything was still green and growing. The Pacific glittered in the spring sunshine, restless and shifting.

"I can't believe I've lived in San Francisco for two years and I've never been to Big Sur," said Charles.

"First time for both of us."

"Yes."

"A fresh start."

Charles looked at him consideringly.

"Hmm."

The scenery got better and better the further they drove. Charles exclaimed at the best bits and pointed them out to Erik, who tried to take it in while keeping his eyes on the road. The drive took two and a half hours. Conversation was desultory. Erik kept trying to talk and Charles kept stonewalling.

Erik was relieved to spot the Post Ranch Inn sign on the right and swung off onto the road to the hotel. They stopped part way at a kiosk where a security guard checked their names then sent them on up the road. Erik parked outside the reception building, which was long and low and wooden. A charming young woman greeted them and offered champagne. They accepted. Erik felt in dire need of a drink. She gave them a map and explained the various amenities of the hotel. An electric Lexus SUV purred up and they and their bags were loaded in.

They drove through trees and past cabins, built in a modern style in wood and rusted Corten steel. They blended into the landscape wonderfully well. They stopped at a curved roofed cabin surrounded by redwoods. One staff member unloaded their stuff, while the other showed them round. There was a huge bedroom under the curving roof with a massive bed and enormous sofa. All the colours were soft and muted, the textures rich and luxurious. There was a kitchen/dining room, with a fully stocked refrigerator, and a spacious bathroom in dark slate, with a Japanese style tub and a rainwater shower. Erik tipped the guy and then he was alone with Charles.

Alone. With Charles.

"So, what do you want to do?"

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"Unpacking would seem like a good idea."

"Oh, hah, yes."

They unpacked.

"Not to repeat myself, but what shall we do now?" said Erik.

"How about a stroll before dinner?"

"Sounds good."

They wandered along the road between the conifers, looking at the various cabins. Some of them were tree-houses. The pines smelt deliciously of resin.

"Do you like the cabins?" asked Charles.

"Yes. There's a certain honesty to them. A limited palate; wood, stone, glass, steel. They respect the beauty of the natural environment rather than competing with it. The style's called California rustic chic. The architect was G.K. Muennig and, later, Vladimir Frank. They were built in the early 90s. The idea is that they should be beautiful, but unobtrusive, blending in, not standing out. If you look at the roof lines you can see they echo the hills beyond. See how the windows are orientated? That's so they catch the light of the rising sun. Yes, I like them."

Charles stared at him.

"God, sorry, didn't mean to drone on."

"No, no, don't apologise. It was fascinating. It's just, I'd forgotten you're an architect."

They both started laughing. It was the closest he'd felt to Charles all day.

They turned off the road and took a path to the left. They came out of the trees into a garden, with an infinity pool perched on the edge of the sloping cliffs. Vast gulfs of sky and sea confronted them. They both froze, taken aback by the immensity of the vista. The sun dazzled on the water. The wind made gentle noises in the trees. Birds sang. Peace.

Erik felt a light touch on his hand. Charles had slid his fingers into Erik's palm. Erik squeezed gently. Charles didn't look at him, but he squeezed back. Charles gazed out at the sea and sky with eyes coloured as the glory before him.

They stood there a long time.

Charles sighed.

"I guess we'd better go shower and change before dinner."

"I guess," said Erik.

They walked slowly back to the cabin, still hand in hand. Birds called in alarm and shot across their path.

While they're been out, the wood fire had been lit and was crackling cheerfully away in the grate. Charles showered first. Erik tried hard not to stare like a perv when he came out of the bathroom with dripping hair and a towel round his waist. The way the water gleamed on his pale skin. Erik hurried into the bathroom. He nearly pinned himself to the wall when he adjusted the shower and got some sort of super pressure setting. When he came out, rubbing himself dry, Charles' eyes flicked over him then away.

Charles was a vision in blue. Dark blue pants. Bright blue shirt. A sapphire in his ear.

"I like the earring."

"Max bought it for me."

His words were a slap in the face.

Erik turned away and scrabbled for his clothes.

"Erik, look at me."

He looked, expressionless.

"I didn't mean that unkindly," Charles said softly.

Something in Erik thawed.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did."

"Hey, fresh start, remember?"

"Yeah, fresh start."

He put on his black pants and black shirt.

"Ooo, sombre but sexy."

Erik's cheeks coloured.

Charles giggled.

"Oh, darling, I like a shy boy."

"So help me I'm going to push you off that cliff if you don't stop."

Charles hooted.

It was getting chilly so Erik snagged his leather jacket and Charles slung on a soft navy cardigan. They ambled over to the restaurant. It was set in a garden, a single storey wood and rusted steel building. The whole side of the restaurant overlooking the sea was wall to ceiling glass. Erik had booked a table right by one of the windows. The service was excellent, as was the food, but Erik could have been eating McD's for all he noticed. Charles filled his senses. The faint citrus smell of his shampoo. Occasional electric brushes of knees beneath the table. The sunset painting his pale skin gold and rose. Red lips incarnadined by wine and cherry sauce and strawberry juice. Charles was quiet, but seemed happy and granted Erik some beautiful smiles.

After coffee - Ceylon tea for Charles - they strolled back to the cabin in the dark. There was some low level lighting along the path so they could see where they were going.

"Erik, Erik, what . . . what are they?" hissed Charles urgently.

Erik stopped and stared. Shambling towards them were half a dozen strange hunched creatures, about three feet tall, making weird, garbled noises. Charles clutched his arm. Erik was poised for fight or flight. The things shuffled closer and into the light.

Turkeys. Wild turkeys. They seemed to become aware of Erik and Charles and flapped off into the trees protesting.

They laughed all the way back to the cabin.

"Turkeys, we were scared of turkeys," snorted Erik.

"For some reason instead of thinking they were animals I immediately thought 'evil spirits, demons!' I mean what the fuck is wrong with me?"

"Gobble, gobble," said Erik and pulled his jacket up over his head like wings and pecked at Charles.

"Fuck off you idiot or I'll eat you for thanksgiving."

"Promises, promises."

Charles laughed so hard snot came out of his nose.

Once they'd calmed down they got ready for bed, Erik in boxers and tee, Charles in a truly adorable shorts and pyjama top combo with cherries on.

"Not one word," warned Charles.

Erik made a lip zipping gesture.

They climbed into bed. It was a big bed so there was plenty of space between them, but somehow it didn't seem so much when they were lying side by side.

"Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Charles."

"Goodnight, John Boy."

"Goodnight, Sue Ellen."

"Sue Ellen was in Dallas, Erik, it was Mary Ellen in the Waltons."

"You're too young to know about either."

"Classic tv, Erik, classic tv."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Charles fell asleep quickly and lay sprawled out like a gently snoring starfish. Erik lay awake for hours, terrifyingly, achingly aware of his proximity to Charles.

Erik woke early despite not sleeping well. Charles breathed deep and even beside him, hair a disaster area, cheeks flushed with sleep, limbs twisted in the bed linen. Erik gently shook his shoulder.

"Charles, Charles, I'm going for a run. Want to join me?"

Charles opened one eye and made a face so ferociously grumpy Erik wanted to laugh.

"Go away," he moaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

Erik let him be and slipped into his running gear. He set out in the light drizzle and took the route they'd followed yesterday, but turned away from the cliffs and plunged down a steep path through a grove of redwoods, across a wildflower meadow, past the kitchen garden where a woman was gathering herbs - they waved to each other - through a band of oaks surrounding a lake - there were the turkeys again, outraged at Erik's interruption - past an array of solar panels, then in a big loop by the larger cabins - each the size of a small house - past the restaurant and home.

It was home because Charles was there.

He showered and dressed just in time for the delivery of breakfast. He woke Charles, who pouted and rubbed sleep from his eyes. They ate in silence, Erik at a side table, Charles sitting up in bed. Charles showered while Erik looked through a leaflet on local attractions.

"So, what do you fancy today, Charles?"

"You, darling."

"Ha, ha. The weather's supposed to be like this all day, light rain."

"Why don't we swim?"

"But it's raining?"

Charles looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Well, we're not going to get any wetter are we?"

They collected their swimming gear and towels and put on waterproof jackets. The pool was an outdoor one, set in undulating grassland and surrounded by twisted cypresses. Erik changed into baggy navy shorts that hung off his narrow hips. Charles . . . Charles was wearing the tiniest pair of trunks Erik had ever seen. He was slim, but his musculature was elegantly delineated. Erik was so focused on his magnificent ass he didn't notice his back. Charles plunged into the pool and started doing a head-out-of-the-water-old-lady breaststroke. Erik grinned. He entered the water in a flat dive and front crawled past Charles before he was halfway down the pool.

Charles splashed to his side.

"That's just showing off."

"What was that stroke you were doing? Doggy paddle?"

"Piss off, you shit."

Charles dug his fingers into Erik's sides and they grappled with each other. Charles had insisted on slathering himself in sun-block despite the overcast skies so he was slippery as a seal. Erik felt his dick harden. He looked down. Charles had an obvious semi; there was nowhere to hide it in those trunks. Charles pulled away and duck-dived under the fragmented reflections on the surface of the water. Erik swam up and down, cleaving through the water like a shark. He was on his twelfth length when small hands grabbed his shorts and tugged them and him down. Erik went under, breathed in a lungful of water and struggled to the surface, spluttering and choking. Charles waved his shorts triumphantly in his face.

"You give them back, Charles."

"Come and get them, Erik."

Erik chased him round the pool. He could have caught him a dozen times, he was a much better swimmer, but it was too much fun grabbing at his slick body and wrapping his naked limbs round Charles' compact form. Finally he snagged his shorts, dunked Charles underwater, then grabbed him and pinned him to the poolside. His back felt strange against his hands; thin, slightly raised lines crossing and recrossing.

"Charles, your back, what is that?"

Charles' face, shining with mischief and joy, closed down.

"I think I need to tell you. Let's get out of the pool."

As they got out, Erik behind Charles, he saw his back was covered with faint, silvery scars. His chest tightened. It was raining hard, so they wrapped themselves in towels and lay on pool chairs under the overhanging eaves of the poolhouse.

"It happened shortly after you left me. This guy picked me up. Businessman type. Middle aged verging on old. I knew he was trouble, but I was a little high and a lot miserable so I went with him. He . . . he tied me up and hurt me. Tortured me. Raped me. It went on for hours. He left me tied up and bleeding. There was so much blood. I was scared. Somehow I ended up in the street, falling into the path of a police car. They took me to hospital. After I recovered, Janos introduced me to The Frost Agency. He pretty much saved my life. I was going downhill fast, but with his help, with Emma's help, I clawed my way back to the surface. He, the man, was never caught, not that they tried very hard to catch him. That's . . . that's it really."

His voice was quiet. Matter of fact.

Something clawed at Erik's guts. His eyes burned with tears. He wept. He wept for all the insults, humiliation, beatings and rapes Charles had endured. He wept for the way he'd treated Charles, casting him aside like something worthless. Tears blinded him. A small, firm body pushed onto the chair beside him. Strong arms wrapped round him and his head was pressed against a smooth chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry, oh Charles, Charles."

"Shhhh, not your fault, it's over, it's done, I'm alive and well and fucking thriving despite everything, despite him, despite them all, all those shitty tricks and filthy scumbags. Shhh, Erik, shhh."

When Erik had cried himself out, they slid back into the pool and swam up and down side by side, Erik slowing his pace to Charles'. Then they floated on their backs, gazing up at the torn, tormented clouds scudding across the sky, raindrops falling in their faces.

It was late afternoon when they walked back to the cabin in a sea mist that swept in and engulfed them in grey cotton-wool. They were both starved. They raided the kitchen and feasted on rye bread, cheese, fruit and cold meats. Erik left the meat to Charles as it was ham. They drank dry, white wine and lay on the floor, sides pressed together, touching from shoulder to hip to ankle.

"What do you feel like doing now? I'll treat you to anything, Charles. The sky's the limit. Caviar massage. Helicopter ride. Your pick of the jewellery at the Hawthorne Gallery."

Charles rolled over, pushed up on his elbows and looked down at Erik.

"Do you know what I'd really like?"

"No, that's why I'm asking you."

Charles bopped him on the nose.

"Berk. I'd like to stay by the fire and read and get room service for dinner."

"Anything for you, darling," said Erik and craned up to kiss Charles' lips.

Charles' eyes went wide. Erik hurriedly backed off. Charles hesitated, leant down and brushed his lips over Erik's eyelids, then drew away, looking almost shy.

They built up the fire and Erik pulled a chair over. Charles built himself a nest using every cushion in the room. Erik worked his way though the latest 'Architectural Digest', while Charles devoured 'Ghost Stories of the Gold Rush and the Haunted West'.

They ordered pizza from room service. Erik had a classic margherita, while Charles had a Hawaiian, much to Erik's disgust.

"Pineapple on pizza. It's an abomination."

"It's delicious, is what it is," protested Charles through a mouthful of pizza, cheese strings dripping from his mouth.

They opened another bottle of wine, rosé this time.

"Do you play chess?" asked Charles out of nowhere.

"Yes, I was captain of the school chess club. It was while I was going through my black leather and chains phase, so I wasn't exactly the typical player."

"Oh, God, teenage Erik in black leather. You must have been gorgeous."

"Well, I think the acne knocked my gorgeousness down a notch or two."

"My poor, spotty darling. Now, stop distracting me. Where is it?"

He crouched down and rooted through his case, giving Erik a fine view of his splendid ass.

"Here it is!"

He produced a travel chess set.

They set up and Charles insisted that Erik take white as it was his set. Erik started confidently, but soon realised he was overmatched. He fought a vicious rearguard action, only to be annihilated.

"Best of three?"

He was three down and they were both getting quite drunk since they'd finished the wine and cracked open the small bottle of complimentary whisky.

"Best of five?"

Erik won the next game and the fifth ended in stalemate. Charles was yawning almost continually by the end of the last game.

"Bedtime for you I think," said Erik.

"Thought you'd never ask, darling," giggled Charles.

Erik hauled him into the bathroom and forced him to brush his teeth. Charles didn't bother with his pyjama top and Erik left off his tee. Erik ran his fingers over Charles' back, tattooed by pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No more of that," said Charles with considerable authority.

They clambered into bed. No distance between them tonight. They clung together, floating in a pool of dreams.

The morning dawned bright and sunny, with a chill breeze. They decided to go to Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park. They walked the path along the cliff side and gazed down at the beach and the rocks and the waterfall cascading into the sea. There was a sign to 'The Pelton Wheel'. They followed the trail and came to a brick shed. Inside there was something that looked a bit like the middle of a tractor wheel.

"Is that it?" said Charles, decidedly unimpressed.

"It's a type of turbine," said Erik. "That twist in the blades converts the power of the water with much greater efficiency than previous designs. It's very interesting."

Charles stared at him as though concerned for his mental health.

"It's really not."

"It is," insisted Erik.

"So this is your idea of showing me a good time? A shed with a wheel in it?"

"It's a turbine."

"Wow, I can scarcely contain my excitement. What next? A hole with a brick in? Some interesting auto parts? I feel faint with anticipation."

"You lil shit," said Erik and ticked him unmercifully.

Charles shrieked. They were interrupted by a serious couple who looked disapproving.

"They look like the sort of people who really appreciate the Pelton wheel. You should have stayed for a nice chat."

Erik chased him up the trail, flicking his ass with his belt.

They calmed down and carried on walking up the path through towering redwoods. There were clouds of butterflies and drifts of wildflowers. Charles knew the names of most them and seemed unendingly fascinated by the life around him.

"You'd make a great botanist."

"Biology was my favourite subject at school. How could anyone not love it? The science of life. I was getting really interested in genetics before - "

And then he just stopped and was quiet for a little while.

"Ooo, Erik, look, a snake."

Erik upped his pace until he was almost running.

"Don't you want to see the snake?"

"No thanks. I don't like 'em."

"It was a very smol snake. A good long boi, a friendly noodle."

"I have no idea what you're talking about and I am not going to look at that snake."

They carried on, up through the redwoods and into more open oak woodland. The trail was steep and Erik was glad of the cool breeze. They reached the highest point of the trail, sat on a fallen tree trunk and looked out over the woods and the ocean one way and distant hills the other. Clouds clustered at the base of the hills and swept up the narrow valleys in shreds of white and grey, driven by the wind from the sea. They broke out their picnic and fell to on mozzarella, tomato and basil in focaccia, followed by handfuls of cherries. Charles' lips took on a deeper stain. Erik wanted to lick them clean. He surprised Charles by producing a small bottle of champagne, which they drank from their metal water bottles.

They took their time going down the trail, enjoying the cool air, the ever changing light and the life burgeoning all around them.

"My feet are killing me," complained Charles, perching on the rear of the jeep and pulling off his boots.

"Are they new?"

Charles nodded.

"No wonder. Here, let me see."

Erik knelt at Charles' feet and took a hot, sweaty, smelly foot in his hand.

"You've got the beginnings of a blister there. I've got some Compeed somewhere. Ah, there they are. Okay, that's got it. Don't try to peel this off, it'll provide cushioning until the blister heals then just drop off by itself. Let me look at the other foot. No, that's fine."

Erik looked up at Charles, whose bare feet were resting on his thighs. Charles looked down at him with such fondness. He circled Charles' slender ankles with his fingers. He didn't want to move. He wanted to kneel here forever with Charles looking at him like that.

Another couple walked over to their car, parked next to the jeep. It was the serious pair from the Pelton wheel.

"Oh, God, they probably think we're foot fetishists now."

Erik choked down his laughter.

He drove slowly back to the Post Ranch. They were both aching a little when they got out of the jeep, but it was a pleasant ache from enjoyable exertion in the wide open spaces.

"I feel a bit dreamy with all that fresh air and sun," said Charles. "Mmm, my skin smells of the sun."

"What?"

"Here, smell."

He held out his arm. Erik took hold of his wrist and breathed in the scent of his freckled skin.

"It does."

"Told you so. I don't fancy a shower, I'm going to have a bath," declared Charles.

He disappeared into the bathroom and Erik heard running water.

"Look, Erik, look."

Erik walked into the bathroom.

"Look, you can slide the windows right back until it feels like you're almost outside."

There was no barrier between them and the trees and the breeze and the birds fluttering by. Charles dumped an entire jar of sea scented bath salts into the water and started stripping off. Erik went to go.

"You can join me if you like," said Charles, head tipped down, blue eyes looking up through dark lashes, white teeth pinching that red lower lip.

"Are . . . are you sure?"

"No, but I want you anyway."

Charles peeled off his clothes and, oh god, there was his cock, uncut, average length, but pleasantly thick. He climbed into the steaming water and slowly lowered himself, a selkie returning to the sea. Erik tore off his clothes and got into the bath. It was long and deep and wide so Erik could sit opposite Charles, legs pressed together.

"Take care of me, Erik."

Erik picked up the soap and lathered it into bubbles. He soaped Charles' feet, careful not to dislodge the blister plaster. He cleaned between Charles' toes, which made him giggle and thrash. He wrapped his hands round his slim ankles and worked his way up strong calves to even stronger thighs. He avoided Charles' cock - he made a discontented noise - and lathered his flat belly. He soaped his nipples, pinching and twisting them.

"Ooo, more of that."

Erik scraped his nails over Charles' rosy nipples, then splashed water over them, washing off the suds and put his lips to a raspberry bud. He licked and tickled with his tongue, then nipped with sharp teeth and sucked hard. Charles twisted under him, their bodies sliding together, lubricated by fragrant bubbles. Charles' cock rubbed against his. They were both hard.

He slid his hand down Charles' torso and clasped his prick. Charles made a thin, high noise. He gently pulled up the glans and cleaned around the head, then slid his fingers down the shaft and cupped his balls, rolling them between his fingers. He moved his middle finger back, pressing on Charles' perineum. He tapped at Charles' hole. Charles arched his back, lifting his body out of the water, rivulets streaming off his pale flesh. Erik applied a little pressure, a little more, and his finger slid through the ring of muscle.

Charles took a deep inhale, then let out a long breath.

Erik slid his finger all the way out, then pushed all the way back in, reaching for Charles' prostate. He found it and ran his finger round and round, then tapped rapidly. Charles reared up, flung his arms round Erik and kissed him deep and slow. Erik worked a second soapy finger in and scissored and curled his fingers. Charles moaned and slid his tongue into Erik's mouth and leisurely explored Erik's teeth and tongue and palate. He kissed up Erik's jaw and whispered in his ear:

"Let's finish this in bed."

Erik withdrew his fingers, got a good grip on Charles and lifted him up and out of the bath. He was fucking heavy. Erik carried him to the bed, dripping water all over the carpet and laid him on the bed, soaking the sheets. He stepped back to look at him, writhing on the white linen, body gleaming with water, bubbles clustered on his pubes and in his water-dark hair.

He knelt on the bed and kissed his feet and sucked his toes. He nuzzled his kneecaps and took his balls into his mouth, flickering his tongue and squeezing them against the roof of mouth.

"Oh, fuck, Erik, fuck."

Erik licked up his shaft and blew on the head, then swirled his tongue across the tip.

"Mmm, ahhhhhh, yes, yes, yes."

He sucked Charles' cock - it tasted of soap and pre-come - and dug his nails into his balls. He took Charles down, hollowing his cheeks and bobbing his head, until he felt Charles' balls contract, then he pulled off.

Charles groaned.

"Noooooo."

Erik turned him over and drew his tongue over the fine scars that marked his back. He gnawed the luscious flesh of his ass and sucked red marks into the pearly skin. Charles frotted against the sheets, desperate for friction. Erik parted his buttocks and licked Charles' hole. Charles gasped and froze. Erik licked all round the rim and wriggled his tongue against his pucker. He pointed it and pushed the very tip into his asshole. Charles let out a long howl. Erik pushed his tongue as deep as he could and swirled it around. Charles sobbed. Erik pulled his tongue out and pushed it back in and tongue fucked Charles with loving thoroughness.

"Need to come. Need to come," chanted Charles.

Erik kept up the tongue fucking, relishing the rich, rank taste of anal musk, and reached under Charles to grip his cock. He held his silky, solid prick tight and jerked him off with short, rapid movements.

Charles screamed and came hot and wet in Erik's hand. Erik worked him through it, then when Charles collapsed boneless on the bed, he knelt up and fisted his rock hard prick and painted Charles' rosy ass with pearly lines. He slumped on top of him.

Silence except for their uneven breathing.

"Jesus, Erik, you weigh a ton. Get off me."

Erik snorted and rolled off.

Charles turned his head to look at him.

"No one's ever done that to me before."

"Seriously?"

"Mmm." His smile wavered a little. "Guess no one ever wanted to stick their tongue in the arse of a dirty little whore."

Erik put a hand to his cheek.

"You are good and kind and brave and sweet and beautiful and anyone who doesn't see that can fuck off and die."

Charles turned his face and kissed Erik's hand.

They had to raid the cupboard for extra bedlinen and completely remake the bed. 

"You are going to have to leave the cleaners a massive tip."

Erik dressed in his all black outfit and Charles in pale grey pants shot through with silk threads and a pale mauve crêpe de chine shirt. He wore an amethyst in his ear and a black velvet ribbon round his neck, fastened with a matching amethyst pin. He touched a trace of smoky shadow round his eyes.

They sat by one of the huge windows, looking out at the sunset, which was silver, grey and mauve, like Charles' outfit. They walked back to the cabin hand in hand and slept like babies, wrapped round each other so tightly you could scarcely tell where one began and the other ended.

The morning was grey and misty. They gave each other quick hand jobs as they had to be off early. Erik had an important meeting and Charles was going off on a job. Erik left a huge tip for the cleaners and another at reception for the rest of the staff.

"I hope you enjoyed your stay."

"It was magical." Charles gave Erik a tiny but filthy grin. "Truly magical."

They drove back up Highway 1, chatting about the weekend. Erik handed the car back. He offered to drop Charles off in the city, but he said he'd take the bus.

"I . . . I'd like to book you again," said Erik.

"I'd rather you didn't."

So this was it. Erik would say his final farewells to Charles in the parking lot of a car rental.

"I'd prefer us to just see each other, you know, like dating."

Erik gaped like an idiot.

"Dating?"

"Yes, like boyfriends."

"Boyfriends?"

"Or partners if you'd prefer."

"Partners?"

Charles laughed.

"Erik, are you going to repeat everything I say?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just a bit overwhelmed. I'd . . . I'd be honoured, Charles."

Charles looked a little shy, then jumped up, wrapped his legs round Erik's non-existent hips and gave him the filthiest kiss ever.

On the flight home Erik kept grinning to himself in a frighteningly manic way. The cabin crew kept a close eye on him.


	13. Domestic activities interrupted by a raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epic chapter is epic coz Erik and Charles just wouldn't stop being domestic and I was determined to get Raven in.

Charles had promised to Skype Janos when he got back from Big Sur, but he put it off until he'd spent a few days with a stultifyingly boring tech mogul. He'd told Janos about Budapest, Erik wanting to hire him and him agreeing. Janos had not been pleased.

"You must promise not to sleep with him. Remember how he failed you? Remember how he hurt you? I forbid you to sleep with him. Promise!"

Charles had promised and, of course, broken that promise.

He composed himself, trying to look as innocent as possible. He launched Skype. There was Janos, looking as handsome as ever. Before he could even say hello, Janos yelled:

"Lo jodiste! You fucked him!"

Fucking hell. Janos was a mind reader.

"Who fucked who?" cried a girlish voice in the background.

Janos had brought four of his sisters over and they were often in his apartment, so their calls were frequently interrupted by interrogations in a mixture of Spanish and English.

"How dare you use such language! And it is none of your business. And it is something you will never do. You will remain una virgen until you die if I have to lock you in un convento. Go! Go now! Out!"

"Adiós, Carlos."

"Adiós, Sofía."

A door slammed.

"They were such good girls in Colombia. Now they are American," mourned Janos.

"They're still pretty good."

"Oh, do not think that you will change the subject. You promised, Charles, you promised. Have you learnt nothing? Have you forgotten how he let you down?"

"No, but we talked and I think we understand each other better. I haven't forgotten, but I have forgiven."

Janos threw up his hands in despair.

"A few hours in Budapest. A weekend away. And now you think you know him. Charles, this is madness."

"It's not. I do know him and he knows me and we're going out together."

Silence. Janos' brown eyes got bigger and bigger.

"You are going out together?"

"Yes."

"So he will not even pay for the pleasure of your company, you will give yourself to him for free?"

"Yes."

Janos sighed deeply and shook his head.

"Charles, I am worried for tu corazón. If you are set on this locura, do not give him everything, hold something back."

"I will."

He wasn't going to tell Janos it was way too late for that and he'd already given his whole heart to Erik.

"You are a fool and it will end in tears, but you are a stubborn fool so I guess I cannot change you. Now, tell me everything that happened and I mean everything."

Charles told him almost everything.

"Hmm, very romantic, but how it will work in the real world I cannot see."

"It'll work," said Charles.

"I hope so and I will pray so. Adiós mi hermanito."

"Adiós mi hermano mayor."

Erik called a couple of days later to say he could come over at the end of next week. Pietro was in college and his mama was feeling better and was going to visit an old friend so he wouldn't be seeing her. Their phone conversation was remarkably stilted considering the weekend they'd spent together. Charles agreed, but once he'd rung off, started to have doubts. He also realised how little he knew about Erik. Had his mother been ill? Did Pietro live with Erik when he wasn't in college?

He called the agency and told them he'd be unavailable the following Thursday and Friday. He looked round his apartment. It was the one Emma had originally settled him in. It was small, but in a reasonable neighbourhood and not too expensive. He could easily have afforded somewhere bigger, but he was squirrelling away money like a financially astute squirrel. It looked alright to him. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was selling the place. He opened his eyes. Stuff. So much stuff and in so many places. Mugs. Plates. Clothes. Books. Books on the floor. Books on the sofa. Books on the window ledges. Books on the table. Books in fallen stacks that cascaded down the shelves in a papery waterfall. Also dust. Everything looked like it was covering a thin layer of grey felt. What was all the stuff on the floor? Charles crouched down to get a good look. Dirt. Grass. Grass? Ah, the park. Dead insects. Eww, bits of food.

Four hours later the place was gleaming and Charles was lying in the bath brain-dead and knackered. The horrible realisation hit him that he would have to keep it like this for a whole week. He sank slowly under the bath water.

The week went quickly. He had several evening and overnight hirings. On Wednesday he panicked because he'd forgotten to wash the bed linen and towels and they smelt strongly of 'Charles'. It was gone midnight when he'd dried them all off. He slept in a fusty set of spare sheets he'd unearthed from the airing cupboard so he could make the bed with clean ones in the morning.

It was raining on Thursday morning. Charles tried not to view it as an omen. He wandered aimlessly round the apartment, spotting things he hadn't cleaned and giving them a cursory wipe. He had some soup for lunch then watched 'Air Crash Investigation', which he found weirdly soothing. He kept leaping off the sofa and peering out of the window. On the thirteenth time he did it, a cab was drawing up outside the building. Charles squealed with excitement and swore to himself never to tell anyone he'd done such a thing. Erik got out of the cab with an overnight bag. He looked quite stern. It occurred to Charles that most people would find Erik pretty intimidating. He never looked at Charles like that. Erik pressed the buzzer and Charles yelled:

"Hello, darling," and buzzed him in.

He opened the door and stood in the corridor waiting. The elevator doors opened and there he was. He spotted Charles and that stern face transformed. Charles tore down the corridor and flung himself into Erik's arms.

"Ooof! What a welcome. Are you trying to knock me over?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

Erik obliged.

It was a thorough kiss, with tongue sucking, lip nipping and a fair bit of throat nuzzling. Erik swept him up in his arms, carried him through the door like a bride and set him gently on the sofa. Charles pulled him down on top of him, luxuriating in the weight of that long, lean body. Erik pushed up on his elbows, taking some of his weight off Charles, and looked down at him with the softest expression. All Charles' doubts disappeared.

"How was your flight?"

"Fine. I had to get up at an ungodly hour, but luckily I'm a naturally early riser."

"Yes, I remember from the Post Ranch."

Erik laughed.

"And I remember how grumpy you looked when I woke you up and asked if you wanted to go for a run."

Charles shuddered.

"Never, ever do that again."

"I won't, I promise," he said and kissed the tip of Charles nose. "Nice weather you've laid on for me."

"I asked for it especially so you'd be forced to stay in bed with me the whole two days."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I don't think I've got that kind of stamina. I'm not a young, energetic thing like you."

"Don't worry, I've laid on unlimited Viagra."

"Okay, now I'm really worried. Before the orgy commences, I'd like something to eat."

"Yes, got to keep your strength up. There's a nice place just down the road."

Charles grabbed his coat and umbrella and they set off, arm in arm. Half way down the street, Charles stopped.

"I used to fantasise about this, about doing ordinary, normal, everyday things with you."

Erik kissed his damp hair.

"We can do as much ordinary, everyday stuff as you like. Oh, baby, are you crying? Don't cry, sweetheart."

"I'm not crying, it's the rain," sniffed Charles.

Erik kissed the 'rain' from his eyes.

The cafe was noisy and busy. Erik had fish tacos and an espresso and Charles had avocado toast and Earl Grey to keep him company.

"You'll never be able to afford a house if you keep on eating that," said Erik with a sharkish grin.

"Oh, hah, bloody, hah, grandad knows a meme. Actually I could afford a house already, but I'm saving."

"What are you saving for?"

"Well, I can't do this forever. Late twenties is about the limit in my line of business. I want to go to university. I want to study genetics. I guess I'll have to get my GED first and maybe spend a year in community college."

"Forward planning. I'm full of admiration."

Charles preened a little.

"Enough about me, I want to know about you, Erik. How's Pietro doing? And you mentioned your mother?"

Erik smiled.

"He's doing great. He got a track scholarship to Columbia and he's studying sports science. He's so happy. It's such a turnaround. I hardly ever see him because he's made so many friends, plus he goes over to Hungary to see Magda and Wanda as often as he can. He's even mellowed towards Frank."

He paused.

"My mama, ah, she's okay now, but she's been through a hard time. She had cancer a few years back and they fixed it, but two years ago it came back and she had to go through the treatment all over again and that shit is brutal. She's been clear for a year now, but it took it out of her and she's not quite her old self. She's slower, more fragile. Still got that spark though. Her humour. Her kindness. Her stubbornness. That's definitely something I inherited from her. God, I'd love to introduce you to her. She'd love you. She'd think you were too young for me, but she'd love you."

Charles blinked.

"Seriously?"

Erik nodded.

"What's not to love? You're a lovely person, she's a loving person, it's a match made in heaven. Oh, Charles, I didn't mean to make you cry. Jeez, that's twice in one day."

He reached out and took Charles' hand.

"It's just the steam from my tea."

Erik squeezed his hand.

"Let's go home," he said.

Home. He'd called Charles' tiny, book crammed apartment 'home'.

They strolled back, arms linked, Erik holding Charles' umbrella over their heads. The rain had intensified, bouncing off the sidewalk and streaming down the gutters. When they got back to the apartment, they shook off their wet coats and hung them above the tiny bath.

"Now," said Charles, "where were we?"

Erik swung him round and pressed him against the wall, chest to chest, groin to groin. Charles ground his hips. Erik groaned, twisted his fingers into Charles' hair and kissed him slow and deep. Charles slid his leg between Erik's and rubbed his thigh against the bulge in Erik's pants. Erik groaned some more, then without any warning, bent and slung Charles over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

"Erik, what is it with you and carrying me around?"

"I have no idea because it's killing my back."

He dumped Charles down on the bed. Charles stretched luxuriously, pulled off his sweater and started unbuttoning his shirt.

"Oh, fuck," said Erik.

"That's the idea, darling," said Charles, wriggling out of his jeans.

He lay there, naked, arms above his head, legs apart. He started fisting his prick. Erik undressed with lightning speed and lay down beside him. He added his hand to Charles' and together, with liberal applications of spit and pre-come, they jerked Charles off. He came with a gasp, Erik's arm around his shoulder, face buried in the crook of Erik's neck. Once he'd recovered, he asked:

"See anything you like?"

"Everything."

Erik kissed him all over. They ended up with Charles on his back, legs hooked over Erik's shoulders. Erik might not have been a young, energetic thing, but he had plenty of stamina. He fucked Charles like a metronome, like a fucking machine, like an engine of desire. All that prodding of his prostate got Charles hard again. Erik leant on him, so Charles was bent in half and his cock bounced between his own belly and Erik's rock hard abs. Charles whined and wriggled and clenched his arse. Erik wrapped long fingers round Charles' prick and stroked him in time to his thrusts. Charles felt his balls draw up, felt that electricity at his core and shot his load over their bellies. Erik grunted and came hot and wet deep inside him.

Erik collapsed to one side, cock pulling out of Charles, and encircled him in those sinewy, muscular arms. Quiet, except for the sound of their breathing. After a while Erik's breathing deepened and became more regular. He'd dropped off. Charles giggled silently, managed to reach the remote without waking Erik and watched 'Hell's Kitchen' for a bit. Erik awoke with a snort. They cleaned up and put their clothes on. Charles settled down for an orgy of crap tv watching and Erik got out his iPad and pulled up the plans of a building he was designing. Charles got interested and Erik enthusiastically explained the project to him, totally nailing Charles' competence kink.

The rain eased off so they went for a walk round the local park, then wandered home in the misty twilight. Erik kept insisting he was up for going out dinner, but Charles could tell he was still tired from his flight.

"It's okay, I've got pizza in the fridge. Hawaiian for me and pepperoni for you."

Erik grimaced.

"I'll just pick that pepperoni off."

He did so with the tip of a knife.

"You don't like pepperoni?"

"Jewish."

Just for a moment Charles thought Erik meant pepperoni was Jewish, then it clicked.

"You're Jewish?"

"Oh, come on, Charles, you must have noticed that I'm circumcised."

"Pfft. Most American men are cut, I'm an exception. Are you, what's the word, observant?"

Erik was carefully scraping minute bits of sausage off his pizza.

"I try to abide by the dietary laws, but not, hah, religiously. I go to temple with my mama and, sometimes, on my own. My Jewish heritage is important to me, plus I want to believe that there's something bigger than us, better than us, that wants only good for us and will elevate the oppressed and punish the evildoer. What about you?"

"Atheist through and through. Not a Richard Dawkins type atheist though."

"Hmm. Have you got any olive oil or cheese or tomato I could add to this?"

"No, sorry."

"Is there anything edible in your kitchen?"

"Hey! There's various sauces, chocolate, milk, tea, coffee - "

"Instant," interrupted Erik.

" - and fruit."

"A rotting apple doesn't count."

"Such ingratitude," said Charles, putting on his sad face. "Right, let's get 'em in the microwave."

"No, no. They'll be much better in the oven."

Charles rolled his eyes.

"Fiiiine."

They did a bit of smooching up against the kitchen cabinets while they waited. Once the pizzas were done, they settled on the sofa with trays. Charles thought the pizza was okay.

"As a guest, I'd prefer to remain polite and not comment," said Erik. "Tell you what, how about tomorrow I make you pizza from scratch?"

"Okay, and if it's better than this I'll . . . I'll give you something nice."

"Deal. Is the something nice sex by any chance?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder at."

They washed up and returned to the sofa. Erik looked at his architectural plans and Charles read a newly published book of gay love poetry, ancient and modern. They watched 'Skyfall' because Charles fancied Daniel Craig and Erik enjoyed the action. Charles cried when 'M' died.

"It's just, Judi Dench is like the mother you always wanted but never had," he explained.

"She reminds me a little of my mama, they're about the same height, though mama is much thinner. That combination of softness and steel."

Erik went into the bathroom before Charles. It was tiny and there wasn't room for both of them. When he was done, Charles brushed his teeth, adjusted his tighty whities and unbuttoned his silky pyjama jacket. He leant seductively in the doorway.

"So, Mr Bond, you won't talk. I have ways of making you talk."

He paused. Erik was face down on the bed absolutely dead to the world. He smiled fondly and snuggled up to Erik as gently as he could so as not to wake him.

Come the dawn, they had some thoroughly enjoyable frottage to take care of their morning wood and ate Cheerios for breakfast because that's all there was.

"Right, shopping," said Erik.

They walked to the nearest half decent supermarket. Charles pushed the trolley, while Erik selected wine, tomatoes, tomato paste, a red onion, a bulb of garlic, mozzarella, basil, olive oil, yeast and flour.

"Flour? Aren't you just going to buy the bases?"

Erik gazed at him in horror.

"There, ham and pineapple, just to please you."

"Thank you, darling," said Charles. He stopped pushing the trolley. "I've just realised I've never been food shopping with anyone before. I've been shopping of course, paraded round boutiques and jewellers like a lap dog, but food shopping, never. I can't believe I'm getting to do all this domestic stuff with you."

"You'll get to do so much domestic stuff with me you'll be bored as hell with it," said Erik, and kissed him right there in the whole foods aisle.

Erik got started on the dough as soon as they got home, as it had to prove, whatever that meant. Charles found Erik with his sleeves rolled up, flour on his lean forearms and a dab of it on his brow, hot as lava and kept interrupting the cookery to grope and kiss him. While the dough was proving, which mean rising apparantly, Erik checked out his emails. His face changed, forehead furrowing, eyes narrowing, lips compressing. He banged at the keyboard like he hated it, then slammed the iPad on the table and disappeared into the bathroom. Five minutes later he reappeared, looking as though he was making a massive effort to appear normal.

"You okay?" asked Charles.

"Fine," said Erik, with a forced smile.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, sure."

Charles sighed and sat down next to Erik.

"Look, Erik, this is supposed to be a real relationship, isn't it?"

"Of course."

"Well, real relationships aren't just about the good times. Remember in Big Sur, how I unloaded on you? That works both ways. If you're going to act like I'm some fragile flower who must be protected at all costs this isn't going to work. I'm here for you just as much as you're here for me. We've had a lot of ups and downs already so we need to work hard to keep things going. We need to be open and honest with each other."

He draped his arms round Erik's shoulders.

Erik took a deep breath.

"You're right. Okay. Okay. Okay. There was an email from my firm asking me to work on a project for Trask Industries. I . . . I know a man who works there. I met him when I was eighteen and just starting college. He was a professor. He was my mentor. He . . . flattered me, told me I was special, better than the other students, more talented, more mature. It was total bullshit. Oh, I put on a brave front, confident bordering on arrogant, but inside I was still this insecure kid. I fell for his crap. He was clever. He made me chase him. We started a relationship. It was great at first, I felt like the special, talented person he told me I was."

Erik paused. Charles tightened his embrace.

"Then it started. My friends were immature and juvenile. I should drop them. My motorbike was dangerous. I should get rid of it. My clothes were tacky. I should wear what he choose for me. I visited my mother too often. I should spend more time with him. My architectural designs were unoriginal. I should follow his lead. Then it got worse. He slapped me a couple of times. He was so sorry. Said he didn't mean it. Said he loved me so much he got a little crazy. Said he'd never do it again. Except he did. Slaps, punches, kicks, beatings, choking. Sexual violence too. He forced me to do things I didn't want to. Forced me to sleep with his friends. Forced me to let a whole queue of guys fuck me. Then he dropped me."

He stopped. Charles fought down the rage that threatened to consume him and kissed and stroked his hair.

"And the weird thing is I was devastated. Tried to get him to take me back. Begged him. He wouldn't. Gradually I started to notice how much better I felt, how much easier my life was, I could do anything I wanted, this huge burden was lifted, I was free. A couple of years later I was trying to juggle my studies, marriage and the twins. Then I saw this story about this sixteen year old who'd started college early and had killed himself. And there was Shaw, saying how special this kid was, how talented, how it had been an honour to mentor him and I knew, I just knew. To cut a long story short, I started investigating, because the police wouldn't, and I turned up half a dozen guys who'd been abused by Shaw. It went to court, he was found guilty and imprisoned. Couple of years ago he was released on parole and went to work for Trask Reseach. That's it really."

Erik was shaking slightly. Charles slid onto his lap and kissed him softly. Erik hugged him so tight it hurt a little, but Charles didn't care.

"I'm over it. I've been over it a long time. I've got my work, Magda - she might be my ex, but she's still a hell of a woman - the twins, mama and you. The email just stirred things up some. The anger. That feeling of victimhood. And I won't be a victim, Charles, I won't."

"You're not, Erik. You're a survivor. You're a strong, decent, beautiful man and I love you."

They kissed, deep and long.

"You know what they say, Erik, living well is the best revenge."

"No, cutting off his dick, shoving it down his throat and decapitating him is the best revenge."

Charles laughed and Erik grinned wolfishly.

"God, Erik, I can just picture you as a knight in armour, streaked with mud and blood, raging across the battlefield."

Erik gazed up at him and smiled.

"And I can picture you waiting for me in a silken tent, clad in robes of velvet, ready to tend my wounds."

Charles was struck by inspiration. Erik had been reminded of a time when he felt powerless. Charles would make him feel powerful again.

"Wait right there."

Charles disappeared into the bedroom and emerged clad only in his floor length, red silk dressing gown, a diamond drop earring, gold chains around his neck and gold bracelets on his wrists.

"Oh, sir knight, you are grievously wounded, let me heal your hurts, let me soothe your pain. Come into my chamber."

He took Erik's hand and led him into the bedroom. He laid him down on the bed and undressed him, running hands and lips and tongue over every inch of exposed flesh. Erik shuddered and moaned.

"Brave sir knight, I thought you had laid down your sword, yet here is a fine, powerful blade, fit to impale your loving servant."

He pressed a kiss to the head of Erik's cock, then took him down. Erik's hips bucked up and his hands slid restlessly over Charles' shoulders.

"I have oil of Araby here. Shape me to your will."

Erik lubed up his fingers and slid one into Charles.

"You're not my servant, you're my prince, my liege Lord, my love," he whispered.

He worked a second and then a third finger in. Charles felt him tap and massage his prostate. His cock hardened.

"Let me serve you, my knight, let me gift you my body."

He pushed Erik down on his back, straddled him and poised his arse above his bright red prick. He took the shaft in one hand, bore down and the head popped though his hole. He paused a moment, enjoying the sensation, then achingly, tormentingly slowly impaled himself on Erik's cock.

"Charles, Charles, my prince, my love."

Charles began working himself on Erik's cock, using his strong thigh muscles to glide almost all the way off Erik's prick, then sink leisurely, agonisingly down.

"You have slain your enemies, you have conquered nations, you are strong beyond measure and honourable beyond reason."

He fucked himself on Erik's cock, faster and faster. His body flushed deep pink. Sweat eased down his chest in silver rivulets, glistening on the gold chains. Bracelets jingled on his wrists. The scarlet silk clung to him like a lover unwilling to let go. Erik gazed up at him with a worshipful expression. He rotated his hips and clenched his arse rhythmically. Erik quivered from top to toe, sobbed and came. Charles grabbed his own cock, jerked off frantically and spurted come over Erik's belly and chest. Some even hit him on the chin. Charles slumped on top of him.

"Not the most subtle way to boost my self image," said Erik.

"Worked though, didn't it?"

"Yes, yes it did. An unorthodox form of psychotherapy, but highly effective."

Charles giggled and Erik's cock slid out of his arse.

"Erik, the pizza dough!"

"Don't worry, it'll be fine. Better clean up since we're cooking."

After a thorough washing, particularly of hands, Erik got out the dough. He kneaded it, then divided it in two and rolled it out. He even did that throw-it-up-in-the-air-and-spin-it-round thing, to great applause from Charles. Next he prepped the passata and the toppings. Charles 'helped' by stealing bits of cheese and ham, rubbing up against Erik and pouring a couple of glasses of red wine. Erik let him put his own toppings on. Charles made two big eyes out of ham and a toothy grin from pineapple pieces.

"Switch the oven on for me, babe. Where are your baking trays?"

Charles looked at him blankly. Erik muttered under his breath. He improvised with a frying pan without a handle and the lid from a metal cookie tin. Once the pizzas were in, they cleared up and washed the dishes. Charles would have just let it be, but Erik appeared to be a tidy person. Charles laid the table. He put his pepper plant, named Chilli, in the centre. It was the only houseplant he'd managed not to kill and was looking splendid at the moment with dozens of flowers. He lit some tea lights he'd found while they were looking for alternative baking sheets and got out peony patterned plates. He'd never used them to eat off before, but he felt the occasion demanded it.

"Mmm, they look ready," said Erik, peering in the oven.

He served them up and they dug in. Charles made a noise usually heard only in porn films.

"Oh, God, Erik, these are the best pizzas I have ever tasted and I've been to Italy."

Erik looked so pleased and proud Charles climbed onto the table to give him a cheesy, tomatoey kiss.

"You could have gone round," said Erik, but he looked delighted.

They ate their pizzas and finished off the wine. Charles produced some ice cream from the tiny freezer and they had that for pudding.

"How about that something nice you promised me?"

Charles disappeared into the bedroom and emerged with a 'Pride' badge which he pinned to Erik's shirt.

"There, the master pizza maker medal of honour. Wear it with, hah, pride."

"I am not worthy."

"No, I know you're not, but I'm generous."

Erik wrestled him to the sofa and tickled him till he screamed. They stretched out together, Erik's back pressed against the sofa back, Charles pressed against Erik. Charles read some more of his poetry, while Erik dozed off. Charles put the tv on and watched a nature documentary about monkeys that lived in the mountains in Japan and used hot springs to stay warm in the winter.

"Erik, Erik, wake up. It's time to go catch your plane."

Erik blinked and sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. He packed his stuff and called a taxi. Charles sat in his lap while they waited. Erik stroked his back. They heard the hoot of a horn outside. They rode down in the elevator, Charles clinging to Erik.

"I'll be back as soon as I can, baby," promised Erik.

Charles kissed him passionately and stood waving goodbye until the cab had disappeared into the distance. He went back up to his apartment. It smelt deliciously of pizza. The candles glowed on the table. The olive oil and flour sat on the work service.

Charles felt decidedly misty.

He finished off the ice cream.

*** * ***

"And here's me with Hugh Jackman," said Warren Worthington III, or World War III as Raven thought of him.

He'd been to some kinda X-Men themed event in San Francisco, had taken a billion photos and was now determined to show Raven every single one. Raven gazed upon Hugh Jackman. She couldn't help thinking there was a weary edge to his smile. Warren had that effect on people.

"Here I am with Nicholas Hoult."

Raven grabbed the phone off Warren and swiped back to the Hugh Jackman photo. In the background was a short, pale skinned, dark haired, blue eyed, ruby lipped young man. Raven's heart thundered in her chest. It couldn't be. But it was. He was in three quarter face so she had a fine view of that bumpy noise. No. Yes. Yes.

Charles.

Raven mailed the photo to herself.

"Sorry, gotta go, Warren," she said, chucking his phone at him.

She sprinted back home, up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her. She fell onto her bed, got out her phone and stared at the picture. It was Charles. But it couldn't be Charles. He was dead. Looking closely she could see he didn't look exactly like Charles. He was a few inches taller. Charles had been a skinny lil thing, this guy was nicely filled out. She tried to imagine fifteen year old Charles as twenty year old Charles. Fuck. He would look exactly like that. His nose in particular was unmistakable; slightly too big for his face and with a distinct lump in the middle. She enlarged the photo, hoping to spot those two freckles on the bridge, but the picture dissolved into pixels.

It was him. It was.

She got up and paced around the room. Waves of hot and cold coursed through her. Charles, her big brother, alive. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to scream, she wanted to break stuff. But if he wasn't dead, why hadn't he come home? How could he have let her think he was dead? Anger stirred.

"Fuck you, Charles, fuck you," she hissed at the picture, then kissed the screen and burst into tears.

All through dinner, which she couldn't eat, she kept looking at her phone.

"Put that away," snapped Sharon.

"What, so we can have a heartwarming mom and daughter chat?" snarked Raven.

Sharon sighed.

"At least tell me about your day."

"Went to see Marina. She wasn't home. Warren trapped me and was boring. Came back. Am eating dinner."

"Except you're not actually eating it. Finish your fish."

Raven shovelled the fish down. Perhaps she should show Sharon the picture? No, she couldn't imagine Sharon being any kind of use. That was a bit unfair. Sharon had been fucked up after Kurt's death, but then she'd cut back on the alcohol and when Cain had come back and started trying to throw his weight around - he and Raven had had a knock down, drag out fight - she'd given him an ultimatum; go and never come back and continue to receive a generous allowance or stay and have the police called on him, plus no more cash. He'd gone.

After the accident, Sharon and Raven had got closer. They'd provided a degree of comfort for one another. Sharon had been the most human Raven had ever known her.

She looked at her step-mom with a certain fondness.

"Can I go now, Sharon?"

"Yes."

Raven kissed the top of her head in passing. Sharon grabbed her hand and gave it a brief squeeze. Raven almost stopped and showed her the pic, but didn't. She needed to be sure.

Back in her room she stared at the glowing screen. Charles. They weren't brother and sister. They were distant relatives. Raven's parents had got into some bad shit. There'd been criminality and suicide. Raven had been supposed to be staying with Sharon and Charles for a short while until something more permanent was sorted out. But Charles had taken one look at her and it had been love at first sight. Maybe it was because his dad had died a year ago and her mom had killed herself, but they had this instant connection. Charles, quiet, civilised, you'd hardly know he was there Charles, had raised hell to keep her. He'd cried, he'd screamed, he'd refused to eat, he'd refused to go to school, he'd broken stuff. In the end Sharon had given in.

A year later she'd married Kurt and they'd gained a step-dad and step-brother. Kurt had never paid any attention to Raven. Charles had been his favourite. He'd follow Kurt round like a puppy, desperate for a father. Cain had been insanely jealous and had tortured Charles whenever he got the chance, which earned him a fair few beatings from Kurt. Cain picked on Raven too, but she was elusive and managed to avoid him most of the time. Charles relationship with Kurt had gradually changed. Sometimes it seemed like he loved him, sometimes like he hated him. He'd still gone off on those hunting weekends, which had made Raven feel neglected and left out.

Christ, they were a fucked up family.

"Charles, where are you? Why didn't you come home? Are you okay? I hope you're okay. You look okay. Why didn't you come back to me? Why?"

She had to find him. She could go to San Francisco . . . and do what exactly? Wander the streets hoping to spot him? No.

She called Angel.

They'd met at some huge party. Angel was an up and coming singer-songwriter. They'd each thought the other was a bitch, which was kinda true. Then Angel had got into an altercation with an overzealous fan and Raven had punched his lights out. A dozen tequila slammers later they were BFF's.

"Hi Angel."

"Raven! My sister! So good to hear your voice. So, you in trouble or about to get into it?"

Raven laughed.

"Maybe. Have you ever used a private detective?"

"Yeah. He was kinda freaky, but good. How come you need one?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"Bitch! I'm sending you his number. Are you ever gonna tell me what this is about?"

"No, you nosy hoe! Now fuck off!"

Angle cackled.

"Fuck off yourself, thot!"

The next morning Raven made an appointment with Howlett Private Investigations. She'd come into part of her trust fund at eighteen, so she had plenty of funds. Sharon had been afraid she'd blow it on drugs and partying and, sure, she'd partied some, but most of it she'd left untouched. Raven had powerful memories of being in the apartment with her mom after her dad had left. The power had been cut off and they'd lived in the cold and dark. The kitchen cupboards had been empty and her mother had sent her out to shop with nowhere near enough money. Raven had stuffed food up her sweater and down her pants and had got away with it because she looked so angelic. Her mother had sent her to get her fix from her dealer too; little Raven in her navy and red private school uniform - the fees had been paid up front - trotting into this fucking crack den. No, Raven wouldn't be wasting her money.

The detective's offices were in a scruffy building in a scruffy neighbourhood. The rooms themselves were spruce enough and there was a smart receptionist with a soft, southern accident and white streaks in her black hair. Raven thought she was kinda gorgeous.

"You go right on in, Ms. Darkholme."

The detective was sitting behind his desk. He stubbed out a cigar and rose to greet her and shake her hand. He was huge and muscular and hairy.

"James Howlett, but everybody calls me Logan. What can I do for you?"

Raven got out her phone and showed him the picture.

"Five years ago my brother was killed in a car crash. His body was never found. The investigation concluded he'd staggered off and died in some crevice somewhere or animals had dragged the body away. Except, this is him. This is my brother, Charles Xavier."

Raven saw the name register with Logan.

"Are you sure, Ms. Darkholme?"

"Yes. Here are some pictures from when he was younger."

"Hmm. That's a strong resemblance alright. Have you any idea why your brother might have wanted to disappear?"

"No."

"I'm guessing you want me to try to find him."

"Yes. I cannot stress enough how confidential this is."

"I'm silent as the grave, Ms. Darkholme. I'll just get Marie to go through our fees and conditions with you and draw up a contract. Marie!" he bellowed.

Marie walked in, tutting.

"You do know that's what the intercom is for?"

He grinned at her.

"I prefer good old fashioned yelling."

She rolled her eyes. Raven would've betted actual cash money they were a couple. Marie explained the payment structure and terms and printed off a contract which she and Logan signed.

"I'll get right on it, Ms. Darkholme. You got a number you'd like me to contact you on?"

Raven sent him her number and the photos of Charles. They shook hands. Raven rode down in the elevator, stomach churning.

She was filled with hope. Hope and fear.


	14. Oh my mama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be sweet and fluffy, but those boys insisted on a tad of angst before the fluff.

"Stop asking how I am, Erik. I'm fine except for you harping on about my health."

Erik regarded his mama. She was thinner than he liked and had an air of frailty, but her colour was good and she seemed to have much more energy. Although her treatment had stopped about a year ago, it had taken her a long time to recover, a function of age and her previous illness.

"What about you, my boy? What's been putting a smile on your face and a spring in your step these last few months? Is there something, someone, I should know about?"

Erik had been spending every hour he wasn't at work or with his family, with Charles. And when he wasn't with him, he was calling or Skyping or emailing. It was time to tell her.

"There is someone."

"A man or a woman?"

His mother had known he was bi forever.

"A young man. His name is Charles."

"Charles," Edie said thoughtfully. "Charles. How did you meet?"

"In Budapest. Wanda brought him home for lunch. We kept in contact and . . . and it all just happened."

"Do the rest of the family know?"

"Not yet. He's in San Franciso so it's a long distance relationship. He's . . . he's a lot younger than me. A lot younger."

Erik got out his phone and showed his mother some pictures of Charles, the safe-for-work ones. Edie's eyes widened.

"Oh, my dear, he is young. Just a baby. And so beautiful, but with a little dancing devil in his eyes. How old is he?"

"Getting on for twenty one."

"Almost the same age as the twins. Hmm, I can see why you haven't told them yet." She turned worried eyes on him. "Erik, is this some sort of mid-life crisis? Are you going to be buying a sports car and taking up dangerous sports and getting parts of your body pierced that HaShem did not mean to be punctured?"

Erik laughed and hugged her.

"No, honestly, mama, I'm not going to do any of those things. I'm serious about Charles. He's clever and funny and kind and brave and doesn't take any of my bullshit. I . . . I love him."

Edie frowned and took his face in her hands.

"I worry, Erik. I worry that such a young, beautiful boy will use you and break your heart."

"Well, it's a risk worth taking. He's amazing, mama, truly. I'd like to bring him round, if that's alright with you?"

"Of course it is, of course. But give me plenty of notice so I can clean the house and make him some proper home cooking."

"Mama, I don't want you tiring yourself out entertaining us."

His mother made a rude noise.

"Shtus! The day I can't clean my own house and feed visitors to my home is the day I lie down and don't get up again. Tell me more about him."

So Erik told her about Charles' infatuation with books; how useless, verging on dangerous, he was in the kitchen; how the first time Erik had visited, Charles had spent ages cleaning the apartment and since then, on each successive visit, it had got scruffier and scruffier; how hilarious, sometimes unintentionally, he was and that he was planning on going to college to study genetics.

"I would love to meet the young man who is making you so happy. You know, if it lasts, you will have to tell Wanda and Pietro sometime."

"I know, I know."

He broached the idea with Charles after a dinner of mushroom risotto and fresh herbs, followed by affogato. They were curled up on the sofa together, reading.

"Charles, you know I said I'd love to introduce you to my mother?"

Charles looked a trifle apprehensive.

"Mmm."

"Well, I told her about you and she'd love to meet you."

Charles looked more than a trifle hunted.

"What if she doesn't like me?"

"How could anyone not like you? If a bad tempered asshole like me likes you, how could a lovely woman like my mama not?"

"But what if she doesn't? Does she know how young I am?"

"Yes."

"And what did she think of that?"

"She was a little . . . concerned."

Charles sat up.

"See, already she's got a reason not to like me; I'm too young for you."

"But there are far more reasons for her to love you."

Charles got up and paced the small, cluttered room.

"I'm not good with family stuff, I feel trapped, I don't know how to act."

"You were fine with Wanda and Magda and Frank."

"That's different. We weren't a thing then. This is your mother, Erik, your mother. I bet she thinks no one is good enough for you. I bet she'll be disappointed in me."

"Charles - "

"I'll disappoint her just like I disappointed my own mother."

Charles sounded panicked. He stopped in front of Erik, wringing his hands and trembling like a leaf. Erik pulled him down onto his lap and wrapped his arms round him.

"Look - "

"And I'm a whore, Erik, a high class one now, but still a whore."

"God, you're so much more than that."

Tears trickled slowly down Charles face. Erik couldn't stand it.

"Baby, if you really don't want to meet her, you don't have to. I just thought it would be nice for two of the people I love most in the world to get to know each other, but if it's going to make you this anxious, I don't want you to do it."

"You don't mind?" said Charles in a tiny, shaken voice.

Erik did mind, but he wasn't going to tell Charles that.

"Of course not, sweetheart."

Charles snuggled up to him like a bushbaby, all limbs and eyes.

"Thank you."

"Hey, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

A sneaky grin curled Charles' lips.

"That's not what you said last night when you contorted me into all those impossible positions."

Erik tickled him until he squealed.

The next time he was in San Francisco, he could tell Charles had something on his mind. They were lying in bed, sticky with sweat and come, Erik on his back, Charles sprawled over him, languorous and sated. He started dragging the tip of his forefinger over Erik's chest, drawing invisible lines.

"I've been thinking," he began.

"Always dangerous."

He pinched Erik's nipple.

"Shut up you pillock."

"Pillock? What the fuck's a pillock?"

Charles slapped his hand over Erik's mouth.

"A great lanky lump who doesn't know when to shut up. Anyway, I've been thinking about the lecture I read you when we first started going out together, about how this has to be a real relationship, how it's not just for the good times, it's for the difficult stuff too and we have to be open and honest."

Erik nodded.

"Sooo, I had a bad relationship with my mother. She never wanted kids, but having children was what you did, so she had me. She pretty much ignored me for most of my life. She didn't like me. I was too clever, odd looking - you should have seen me when I was a kid; skinny, clumsy, sticking out ears, this great conk, pale as something living under a stone - insufficiently manly and not interested in any of the things she was interested in. That's why I have problems with the whole meeting your mother thing. If my own mother didn't love me, why should yours?"

Erik opened his mouth to speak. Charles shushed him, then drew a spiral round his left nipple.

"But in real relationships you meet the family. That's what you do because people's families are important to them and if you're important to them they want you to be part of that family and you've made it clear I'm important to you," he took a deep breath, "so I'll meet you mother."

Erik hugged him and kissed him and told him Charles' mother was an idiot who didn't know what she was missing.

They arranged a visit for two weeks time.

Two weeks went too quickly for Charles and dragged for Erik, but soon enough he was picking Charles up from the airport. Charles looked pale and strained. He was dressed up in black pants, black waistcoat, white shirt, red tie and a dark blue coat. He looked like he was trying too hard - Erik was in jeans and a button down - and he longed to tell him to lose the tie, but one look at Charles' tense face made him bite his tongue.

"I got her a little present, a brooch. I hope she likes it. Do you think the flowers are okay?"

"I'm sure she'll love it and the flowers are beautiful."

The flowers were a huge bunch of orchids and roses and thoroughly over the top.

"Promise me you won't dump me if she hates me?"

"I promise and she'll adore you."

Erik parked outside Edie's house. Charles got out of the car like he was an aristo going to the gullotine. Erik squeezed his shoulder. Edie had obviously been waiting for them. She threw open the door.

"Erik, my, Erik," she cried, embracing him. "And you must be Charles."

She hugged him almost as enthusiastically as she'd hugged Erik. Charles, who draped himself over Erik like a sentient rug, went stiff as a board and kept his hands at his sides. Edie drew back, smile wavering a bit.

"Come in, come in. You must be tired from your journey, Charles. Let me take your coat. Just drop your bag there. Erik will take it up to your room later. He'll be sleeping on the sofa. Come into the lounge and sit down, my dear."

"Hey, no fair. How come he gets my childhood bedroom and I get that lumpy old couch?" joked Erik.

"Because he's the guest, you ill mannered boy," laughed Edie.

"I don't mind sleeping on the couch," said Charles, sounding positively panicked.

"No, no, don't even think of it. A guest on the couch? Not in my house. Would you like something to drink, Charles? Tea? Erik says you like tea, so I got some in specially."

"Oh, you shouldn't have gone to any trouble."

"No trouble at all, my dear. There's some cake to go with it. Home made. I'll put these lovely flowers in a vase while I'm at it."

She disappeared into the kitchen.

"Breathe, Charles, breathe."

Charles breathed.

Edie returned with coffee for her and Erik, tea in a china pot for Charles and a delicious looking cake.

"An apple cake, Charles, flavoured with cinnamon. Let me help you to a slice."

Edie cut him a huge slice. Charles balanced the plate awkwardly on his knees and took a tiny piece on his fork. He put it in his mouth. He chewed. He started coughing violently.

"Oh, my dear, let me get you some water," cried Edie and scurried off.

Erik thumped him on the back.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, it's just I really hate cinnamon."

"Why did you eat it then?"

"It would have been rude not to."

"If I know my mama she'll have half a dozen other cakes. I'll ask her to get you something else."

"No, don't, please."

Edie came back with a glass of water.

"Mama, Charles - "

"Erik, no," hissed Charles.

" - doesn't like - "

"Erik, don't."

" - cinnamon. Have you got - "

"I'm perfectly fine with cinnamon," snapped Charles, much too loudly.

There was a brief silence.

"Charles, it's not a problem. I have two more cakes, a coffee cake and a honey cake, and three types of cookies, chocolate chip, almond and raspberry, and orange pecan," said Edie.

Charles glared at Erik.

"This apple and cinnamon cake is absolutely perfect."

He scooped a massive chunk onto his fork, shoved it into his mouth, swallowed and choked so hard he spat bits of cake all over the tea tray and the floor.

"I'll go get a cloth and clean up. I really think you shouldn't have any more of that cake, Charles," said Edie.

Scarlet faced, Charles put his plate on the table. Edie took it away.

"What the fuck?" whispered Erik.

"I was just trying to be polite," Charles whispered back.

"For fuck's sake stop trying so hard."

"Of course I'm trying hard - " began Charles indignantly.

He was interrupted by Edie bearing a huge tray loaded with two cakes, a mountain of biscuits and a steaming cloth.

"Let me take that, mama," said Erik, standing up, taking it from her hands and putting it on the coffee table.

She retrieved the cloth and knelt down.

"It's not so bad, just a few bits and pieces."

Charles knelt down beside her.

"Let me do that, Mrs Lehnsherr. I made the mess, I should clear up."

"It's 'Edie' and you're a guest and it's really nothing."

"Please, Mrs Lehnsherr, Edie, I feel terrible, please let me do it."

Charles attempted to take the cloth from hands, she hung on, Charles tugged, Edie let go unexpectedly, his elbow hit the coffee table, it tipped and an avalanche of cakes and cookies and a waterfall of tea and coffee poured onto the carpet, accompanied by the sound of breaking china.

They stared at the hellacious mess on the carpet.

"I'll . . . I'll just take my . . . my case upstairs," stuttered Charles and fled.

Edie looked at Erik.

"Your Charles is not impressing me so far."

"He's nervous."

"I'm nervous wondering what he's going to ruin next after my cakes, my china and my carpet."

"It's not that bad, mama."

"Your Aunt Ruth gave me that tea set. Perfect it was, not a chip, not a scratch. Now look at it, in pieces."

"We can get it mended."

Edie sighed.

"It'll never be the same. Ah well. Help me clean up, boychik."

Between them, with a lot of soapy water and elbow grease, they made the carpet look quite respectable. The cakes had to be thrown away, but most of the cookies were salvageable. A cup and the milk jug were broken and the tea pot had a chipped spout.

Charles appeared in the doorway. He looked almost scared to come in. His eyes were red. Erik suspected he'd been crying and his heart went out to him. He came over to them.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Lehnsherr, I'm so terribly, terribly sorry."

"It was an accident. There's no need to apologise."

"Perhaps I could buy you a new tea set?"

"That's not necessary."

"Or pay for your set to be mended?"

"No thank you," snapped Edie.

Charles bit his lip and stared fixedly at the floor.

They had tea and coffee with almond and raspberry cookies, using the second best tea set. They sat in crackling silence. Desperate, Erik started talking about work and Edie was soon asking him questions and laughing at his, frankly, pathetic anecdotes. Charles remained completely silent and didn't look up from his tea cup, which he was clinging onto like grim death. Erik longed to hug and kiss and sooth him.

"It's a nice sunny day, if a bit cold. Would you boys like a stroll round the garden?"

"What do you think, Charles?"

"That would be lovely," said Charles and made a pathetic attempt at a smile.

It was one of those bright, crisp winter days with a sky as blue as summer. They put on their coats and went outside. The garden was divided into four quarters of lawn by two paths that crossed in the middle. There were borders all round the edges and in the middle of each quarter. A pergola, covered with climbers, ran from front to back. There was a veg patch and a shed at the end. There was still some colour from yellow winter jasmine and witch hazel, white hellebores and pink cyclamen coum. Snowdrops were pushing up through the dark earth. A viburnum filled the air with scent.

"What a lovely little garden. It complements your lovely little house perfectly," enthused Charles.

Erik nudged him and muttered, "Stop saying 'little'. It sounds condescending."

Charles looked so stricken Erik immediately felt like a complete bastard.

Edie led them round the garden, pointing out her favourite plants, what had done well this year and what had struggled.

"I love that's it's not too tidy," said Charles. "I like a bit of wildness in a garden and you're obviously of the same mind, Mrs Lehn-, I mean, Edie."

Oh shit.

"Actually I prefer it tidy," said Edie stiffly. "It's just that after my illness I'm not as strong as I was and I can't do as much. It makes me sad to see it in such a state."

"I didn't mean - " began Charles and just stopped.

He pressed two fingers to his temple, a gesture that meant he was getting a headache.

"Oh, what a lovely little, no, not little, I mean, just lovely bird table."

Charles went closer to get a better look. The path was slippery. Erik was wearing trainers and Edie was in her gardening boots, but Charles was wearing smart, leather soled shoes. He slipped, grabbed for the nearest thing, which happened to to the bird table, there was a loud crack, the bird table collapsed and Charles landed on top of it. Wood splintered beneath him.

A ringing silence.

"My Jakob made that. Shaped every piece of wood. Hammered every nail," said Edie.

She turned and walked slowly back to the house.

Erik helped Charles up and held him tight. He trembled in Erik's arms, an aspen in a gale.

"I want to go home," said Charles.

"Just give it one night."

"I want to go home. I'm fucking everything up just like I knew I would. She hates me."

"Mama doesn't hate you. She's a bit fed up with you at the moment, but things will look better in the morning, you'll see."

"No they won't. Everything will still be broken."

"Please, Charles, for me?"

Charles looked up at him. He wasn't crying, but he looked wretched.

"Okay."

Erik kissed him.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

They went back inside and Erik helped his mother prepare dinner. The meal was excruciating. Erik jabbered incessantly about work, the twins, and the differences between New York and San Francisco. His mother perked up and joined in after a while. Charles didn't say a word.

Pudding was ice cream.

"It was going to be cake . . . " said Edie.

Charles winced.

After Edie and Erik had washed up - Edie pointedly refused Charles' offer of help - they sat and watched her favourite gardening and cookery programmes.

"Ah, I almost forgot. I got you a little gift, Mrs, er, Edie."

Charles ran upstairs to get it.

"I hope he doesn't think he can buy my approval."

"Of course he doesn't, he's just generous. Don't be so hard on him, mama," said Erik.

"I think your Charles is a careless person. I hope he's not as careless with your heart as he is with my treasured belongings."

"Mama - " began Erik, but he was interrupted by Charles' reappearance.

"Here you are, E, E, Edie. I hope you like it."

He handed her the small parcel, beautifully wrapped and adorned with ribbons and bows. She tore off the paper. Inside was a little blue box. She opened it and took out the brooch. It was exquisite. Three stems of lily of the valley, the leaves in green enamel, the flower heads pearls with minuscule diamond petals. It undoubtedly cost more than every piece of jewellery Jacob had bought her in their whole lifetime together. it was hideously, embarrassingly too much.

"It's very nice. Thank you, Charles."

Edie shut the box with a snap - Charles jumped at the noise - and put it to one side.

They didn't stay up long after that.

Erik gave Charles an exceedingly thorough kiss goodnight.

"Can't I please call a cab?"

Erik sighed.

"Of course you can if you really want to."

"No, I'm being stupid. It's just . . . when I was little I used to save up my pocket money and buy my mother little gifts in an effort to get her to like me. Sometimes she didn't even look at them."

Erik stroked his unruly hair.

"Mama didn't mean it like that. I'm sure she loved your brooch. She's just a bit out of sorts with everything that's happened."

"With everything I've done you mean."

"Shh, shh, shh. It'll be better tomorrow, I promise."

A final kiss and he closed the door on Charles mournful little face.

Erik didn't expect to sleep well, but he was so worn out by the day's events he dropped off straight away.

He was wakened by a faint tapping. What the fuck was that? It didn't seem to come from inside the house so he supposed he didn't need to worry about it. Now he was awake he needed a piss. After he'd drained the snake he looked in on Charles. He opened the door slowly and quietly. The bedclothes were thrown back and there was a distinct absence of Charles. Had he done a runner after all? No, there was his suicase. That fucking tapping again. It was coming from the yard. Erik pulled back the curtains, wiped off the condensation and peered out. A small figure was working away in the garden.

Charles.

Erik pulled on his jeans and boots and coat and went outside. A cool, grey dawn was silvering the sky. It was cold as balls.

"Charles, Charles, what are you doing?"

"Fixing what I broke."

His pale face was pinched with cold.

He'd fixed the base of the bird table - two of the legs looked new - got the post upright and fixed the table bit on.

"Where did you get this?" said Erik, gesturing to the wood, hammer, nails and saw on the dew gilded grass. Edie still had papa's tools, but there was no way Charles could have found them considering they were in the attic.

"I googled trade builders' supplies. I figured they'd open early and there was one quite close by. I walked for a bit, then got a cab and bought this stuff."

"Do you have any idea how much I love you?" said Erik, hugging him so tight he squeaked. His lips and cheeks burned with cold. "Can I help?"

"Oh god, yes. I've got some wood glue to fix the fancy, gingerbread roof, but it would be a lot easier with another pair of hands."

Together they glued the roof - some pieces had to be replaced - and nailed it in place. They sanded the rough patches and then painted the whole thing with wood preservative.

"It doesn't look bad, does it?"

"It looks fucking fantastic," said Erik, through chattering teeth. "Now let's get inside before my balls retreat so far inside my body they never come back out."

"We wouldn't want that," said Charles and groped Erik's crotch.

It was the first time he'd been his normal self all day.

Erik took his icy hands and led him back to the house. He made himself a coffee and did hot chocolate with marshmallows for Charles. He chafed Charles' frozen fingers and blew on them and tucked them under his armpits.

"Smelly but warm," giggled Charles.

"You're a cheeky lil devil so I have no idea why I love you so much," whispered Erik.

Considerable canoodling took place.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?"

"Yes, I'm certain she will."

Charles started yawning fit to break his face so Erik packed him off to bed with a farewell ass slap.

Erik was woken by his mother pottering around on the kitchen.

"Mama, put on your glasses and take a look at the garden."

She frowned.

"I don't want to look at the garden."

"Please, mama."

Grumbling, she put on her spectacles, opened the back door and looked out. She startled and tottered off down the path. Erik chased after her with a coat, which he draped round her shoulders.

"Jacob's bird table. It's fixed. It's good as new. Oh, Erik, did you do this?"

"No, it was Charles."

"Charles?"

"Yes, he got up when it was still dark, bought tools and materials and fixed it."

"Oh, Erik, oh, oh, that poor boy, outside in the cold and dark. Help me back inside."

Once indoors he helped her up the stairs and they burst in on Charles, who jerked awake and sat bolt upright looking utterly dazed and confused. His bed head had to be seen to be believed. Edie sat on the bed and enfolded him in her arms. Hesitantly he hugged her back, then collapsed into her embrace.

"Charles, you dear, sweet boy. You fixed it, bubbeleh. Oh, you little oytser, you little treasure."

Charles burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry I broke your best china and your husband's bird table and kept on saying the wrong thing and I so wanted you to like me because you're Erik's mother and he's the most important thing in the world to me, but all I've done is fuck up, oh shit, I'm so sorry for swearing," and he dissolved into incoherence.

Erik sat on the other side of the bed - there wasn't really room but he jammed himself on - and put his arms round the two of them.

"Charles, you broke things, yes, but you fixed Jacob's bird table and, besides, things are just things, it's people that are important and Erik is the most important thing in the world to me too and you're important to him, so you're important to me. Shall we start again, meyn teyere?" said Edie.

"Yes, please," said Charles, lifting his tear stained face.

Edie wiped his tears away with fingers twisted by arthritis.

They went downstairs and had breakfast.

"I bought some china glue," said Charles. "We could have a go at fixing the tea set if you like, Edie?"

"I do like, you thoughtful boy."

Edie cleaned the broken crockery, Charles glued the pieces back together and Erik taped the china to hold it in place until the glue set.

They washed and dressed - Edie pinned Charles' brooch to her lapel - and Erik drove to the nearest subway station. They took the Metro into town and went to Bloomingdales for lunch. Charles and Edie indulged in retail therapy. Charles bought a cashmere scarf the colour of his eyes. Edie got her favourite rose scented toiletries. They spent a happy half hour trying on hats. Charles insisted Erik take a pic of him wearing something that looked like a flamingo had died on his head. Erik snapped Edie in a hat with such an enormously wide brim she looked like a cheerful mushroom. Charles made him put on a tiny black satin number with a veil.

"I look like an idiot, don't I?"

Charles showed him the photo.

"Actually you look rather sexy. A sort of homme fatale. What do you think Edie?"

"Yes, very nice. I remember when you wore that blue, sequinned dress to Pride."

"Mama!"

"What? You looked lovely. I think I've still got the photos somewhere."

"Oh, I would love to see those."

"I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now," said Erik.

"Pfft, Erik, that's an old meme," said Edie.

Charles chortled.

Edie was getting tired, so they stopped for a rest and drinks, then went home. Edie dozed in her chair while they made out on the sofa. Edie woke up as they were frenching and muttered:

"Just like when you were a teenager."

"Do you have any photos of Erik as a teen?" asked Charles.

"Do I have photographs or do I have photgraphs!"

Edie got out her albums and settled on the sofa between them.

"Oh, Erik, you were such a pretty baby," said Charles.

"Yes, people were always asking me if he was a girl."

"Such a cheerful, smiley little boy too. Sad he's turned out to be a grumpy old git."

Erik cuffed him round the ear.

"Erik, behave. Now, this is my Jakob. You can see why I fell for him, can't you? Short though, like me. All the men in his family were tall, like Erik, but not my Jakob. Good things in small packages. Ah, now here's Erik as a teen."

"Wow, sort of goth-punk."

"He wouldn't wear anything but black. And all this metal on him. 'Are you a blacksmith?' I used to say."

"You're diplomatically not mentioning the spots," said Erik. "'Pizza face' they used to call me."

Edie and Charles hugged him simultaneously.

"It was around then that Jakob passed. It was a hard time for him."

"And I realised that I was bisexual around about then. I went off the rails. Poor mama. I don't know how you put up with me, especially as you were grieving too, but you never gave up."

"And I never will."

"My father died when I was ten," said Charles, voice scarcely audible. "We were very alike, in looks and personality. I missed him so much I couldn't bear it. Without him I didn't feel like me. Then Ra . . . my adopted sister came along and I came back to life. She saved me."

Edie stroked his back and Erik reached round and patted his hair. Charles leant into their caresses.

"Now here's Magda. This is the wedding. Here she is pregnant and here are the twins."

"So tiny!" exclaimed Charles.

Edie paged through photos of the twins growing up.

"You know Wanda, don't you Charles?"

"Yes. We met in Budapest. We still keep in touch, but it's a bit awkward as she doesn't know I'm going out with Erik."

"You'll have to tell her and Pietro sometime."

"I know, mama," said Erik. "I'm just waiting for the right moment."

"And when will that be? When you're married?"

Charles blushed.

Erik was dispatched to get Chinese take-out.

"You sure you'll be okay with mama on your own?"

Charles nodded.

"We got off to a bad start but it's okay now. She's lovely and so tiny. I'd kill anyone who hurt her."

Erik laughed.

"You'd be behind me in the queue."

When he got back from the Chinese restaurant, Charles was lying on the sofa with his head in Edie's lap and she was playing with his hair. They were watching tv. Something cute and fluffy with kittens and ducklings no doubt.

Air Crash Investigation.

"You're just a couple of ghouls."

"You don't understand, Erik," said Charles, haughty as a prince of the blood. "The investigatory process is rigorous, systemic and quite, quite fascinating."

"The rules they make after a crash so it never happens again are the important thing," proclaimed the dowager duchess Edie.

"I still think you're weird. Anyway, do you want this food or shall I eat it all myself?"

They spread out the containers on the coffee table. Charles slid off the sofa and sat cross legged on the floor. He and Edie were adept with chopsticks. Erik had never quite got the knack. He wanted to use a fork, but they insisted he use chopsticks, so some of his food ended up on his clothes and the floor.

"And after Edie cleaned it so thoroughly," scolded Charles.

"I cleaned it too," said Erik.

"And you'll clean it again," ordered Edie.

Erik muttered and grumbled, but actually he loved them ganging up on him.

They played Scrabble after dinner. They started seriously, then Charles tried to surreptitiously swap his pieces, Erik insisted made-up words were real, Edie cheated on the math and it all descended into chaos.

"I think perhaps though the bedroom is small and the bed is smaller you would like to share tonight?" said Edie.

"Yes please," said Charles.

After goodnight kisses were exchanged all round, Erik and Charles crammed into the narrow bed; stark naked because it was too damn hot otherwise.

"This bed virtually forces you to have sex," said Erik.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I am not fucking in your childhood bed in your childhood bedroom in your mother's house. It's disrespectful."

"Chaaarles."

"I said no," hissed Charles, slapping Erik's hands away.

He changed his mind in the morning when they woke up with wood and let Erik frott against his ass and stroke a quiet orgasm out of him. He insisted Erik clear up incredibly carefully and flush the evidence.

Edie came with them to the airport and there was much hugging and kissing goodbye.

"Come back as soon as you can, Charles."

"I will, I will."

They watched him disappear into the security zone.

"Ah, his eyes, Erik. That boy has known pain. You must be very careful with him."

"Yes, mama."

*** * ***

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and still no news of Charles.

Raven was getting antsy. She needed a distraction so she arranged a date with Angel. 

The queue outside the club stretched round the block. Raven was shown right in of course. The place was pulsing with music and light and gyrating bodies. Raven forced her way through the crowd to the VIP enclosure.

"Raven! My gurl! Damn, you one fine, feathered bird, sister."

Raven was wearing a black, body-con dress that contrasted nicely with her peachy skin, grey eyes and golden hair. Her shoes were sky high and day-glo orange.

"And you look like a goddess."

Angel was in a draped, beaded, white dress, with gold gladiator sandals. Her golden-brown skin glowed. Her hair was a black waterfall. Her sleek eyes were outlined in black and her luscious lips shone rose-gold.

"Not a goddess, babe, just an angel."

They hugged and sank onto the enormous sofa. They chatted, Raven about her art, Angel about her current album.

"What's eating you, sis? Your heart ain't in this."

Raven hesitated.

"This can't go any further."

"Silent as the grave."

"You know how my brother was killed in a car crash?"

Angel nodded.

"Except I saw a recent photo of him, alive and well. That's why I hired the private dick. I've got to find him, Angel. We were so close we were like twins. We were everything to each other. When he died, fuck, I nearly lost it. I swear I hung on by the skin of my teeth. When I saw that photo . . . I was overjoyed, but I was angry too. Why would he let me think he was dead? Why wouldn't he come back to me? He must come back to me."

"Fuck, that's some heavy shit. I knew something was eating you, but this! Jeez! Have you got anyone to talk to bout this?"

Raven shook her head.

"I'm here if you wanna unload. I'm here if you wanna just forgot the whole fucking thing." She turned a considering gaze on Raven. "You know what you need, sister? You need to dance like a crazy woman and you know what we need for that?"

Together they yelled, "Tequila!"

Raven danced till her shoes hurt. She took them off and danced till her bare feet hurt. The Don Julio was going down nicely. She and Angel smooched some, Angel mainly for show, which was a pity as Raven could get into that. They ended up sleeping chastely side by side on Angel's gigantic, heart shaped bed.

Ringing. Something was ringing. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Raven opened sleep crusted eyes. Her stomach roiled uneasily. Her head was ringing. No, that was her phone. She ignored it. It stopped. She closed her eyes in the blessed silence. It rang again. She groaned, rolled over and grabbed it.

"Mnustfle."

"Ms. Darkholme?"

"Mnff, yers."

"It's Logan, Logan Howlett. Sorry to call so early, but this is important. I've found him."


	15. Peonies, farewells and reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Max fuck. If you don't want to read that, skip from the first set of asterisks (* * *) to the next.

Raven showered and dressed in the clothes Angel had lent her; jeans that were baggy and overlong on Angel, but just right on Raven, and a big, blue, fluffy sweater. Angel was in boots, combats, hoodie and a parka. She'd stuffed her hair into a beanie and wore enormous sunglasses. Raven tied back her damp hair and put on a peaked cap. Angel handed her a puffa jacket. Neither of them had a scrap of makeup on. Angels's feet were tiny so Raven was forced to wear her orange stilettos.

"You don't have to come," said Raven.

Angel grinned.

"Bitch, try and stop me."

Raven grinned back.

"Thanks."

She peered through a gap in the curtains. Several paparazzi were hanging around across the street.

"Paps out front."

"Good thing we be going out the back then."

Angel lived in the neighbourhood where she'd grown up. She'd bought a bigger and better apartment, but still knew the place like the back of her hand. They climbed down a fire escape at the rear of the building - Raven had to take her shoes off and the freezing metal was excruciating on her bare feet - and into a narrow alley strewn with garbage and debris. Over a chain link fence - shoes off again for Raven - and down a tunnel beneath a semi-derelict block. Two huge dogs came hurtling towards them, barking and snarling. Raven kicked off her shoes and got ready to run. Angel crouched down and held out her hands. The dogs slid to a halt and started licking her face.

"Hello my baby boys. Yes, that's right, it's your mama, Angel. What da ya mean by all that noise, huh? You scaring my good friend, Raven. Go on, get out of here and behave yourselves, you dumb pups."

The dogs scampered off.

They emerged into bright winter sunshine.

"Two blocks and we at the subway," said Angel.

They leant against each other on the train. No one seemed to recognise them or if they did, didn't do anything about it. Angel pulled out her phone and checked her Twitter and Instagram. Raven's thoughts circled endlesslessly. Charles was found. She had her big brother back. What if he didn't want to see her? Why had he disappeared in the first place?

Angel took her hand as they rode the elevator up to Logan's office.

"Whatever happens, babe, I got your back."

Raven squeezed her fingers.

Marie's eyes widened when she saw Angel - she'd obviously recognised her - but she didn't say anything, just showed them into Logan's office.

"Ms Darkholme. Ms - " he paused and looked at Angel.

"Salvadore."

"Ms Salvadore. Okay, I found your boy. Staked out a bunch of high society events. Was starting to think I'd never find him and then he and a 'friend' turned up at a members only Monet exhibition at the de Young Museum."

He turned his laptop round and Raven scrolled through a bunch of pictures of Charles in a tux. He looked amazing. Ah, there were those two freckles on the bridge of his nose. He was with an older guy whose hands were all over him.

"They went on to a hotel. I waited until morning then followed him home. The next set of photos are of his apartment building."

An undistinguished building on an ordinary street.

"It's a decent neighbourhood, but nothing spectacular. Now this guy, at first I thought he was a client, but turns out he's the boyfriend."

The word 'client' pinged in Raven's head, but she ignored it and concentrated on the guy in the photos. Not the same guy as at the museum. Younger, but still old enough to be Charles' father. He had a ridiculous shoulder to waist ration and a hard, handsome face. The next set of photos showed him with Charles. They were walking hand in hand in a park. Charles was looking up at him, all bright eyed and pink cheeked, waving his free hand around like a conductor the way he always did when he was enthusing about something. The boyfriend's face was transformed, warmed and softened by adoration. Damn, he had it bad.

"Name's Erik Lehnsherr. He's an architect, based in New York, divorced with a couple of kids. Seems legit. Your brother goes by the name of 'Charles Franklin'."

Franklin? Raven frowned and then laughed.

"He always used to say Crick and Watson would've got nowhere without Rosalind Franklin's work."

Logan and Angel looked at her blankly.

"They discovered the structure of DNA. Got a Nobel Prize for it. A lot of people think Franklin should've got one too."

"You learn something new every day," said Logan. "Anyway, your brother works for The Frost Agency, a high class escort service."

"Escort service?" said Raven, voice high and uncertain.

"High end prostitution. Real high end. You should see their fees. High rollers only. Their website says it's all about companionship and friendship and having someone to share your taste in fine wine and good food and culture, but I made a few discreet enquiries and it's prostitution alright."

Raven flicked through a bunch of photos of Charles with various older men in fancy restaurants, clubs, galleries and hotel bars. Her Charles, a high end whore. She'd known he was gay - he'd confided in her when he was about thirteen - but a gay hooker? That didn't sound like the boy who'd been determined to go to Oxford to study genetics.

"All the information is in this folder; plus his address, phone number and email. I can email it to you as well if you'd like?"

Raven used a VPN, she figured that would be secure enough. She nodded, picked up the folder, stood and shook Logan's hand.

'Thank you, Mr Howlett."

"Hey, no need to thank me, just doing the job you paid me for." He hung on to her hand. "I'm guessing this has come as quite a shock to you, the agency stuff I mean. If it's any consolation, he seems real happy, especially when he's with that boyfriend."

She nodded, unable to speak. She held it together until she got to the elevator, then collapsed on the floor. Angel hugged her and petted her back.

"It'll be okay, sister, it'll be okay. I'm getting us a cab."

"Oh fuck yes! My feet are killing me and I hate these fucking shoes."

As soon as she got in the cab, she kicked her shoes off.

"Here, gimme those dogs."

Angel grabbed her feet and pulled them into her lap. She massaged Raven's poor, aching soles, toes, heels and arches.

"Shit, you really are an angel."

"It ain't just my name. You okay, sis?"

"Yes. No. I . . . I just don't know what to think. My Charles, my brother, my dead brother alive and well and a high end hooker. I mean fuck!"

"Yeah, fuck indeedy. Private eye guy was right though. He sure did look happy in those pics. And if you're gonna be a hooker, seems like that's the kind of hooker you'd want to be. You know, like in 'Pretty Woman'."

Raven snorted.

"You do know 'Pretty Woman' isn't a documentary?"

Angel slapped her ankle.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch. I mean, he ain't no street whore."

"No, no he's not. It's just . . . he was so smart in school. He had such great plans. He was going to make these amazing scientific discoveries and change the world. And now he's taking it up the ass for cash."

"A lotta cash though."

Raven laughed, harsh and ugly, then sighed.

"How come he never contacted me, Angel? I mean, if he didn't want to come home, he could at least have called and let me know he was alive. I'd have kept it secret if he'd wanted me to. I don't understand. We loved each other so much. We were only together about four years, but it felt like we'd known each other forever. He was the only one that ever loved me. He was everything to me and I thought he was dead and I'd just about come to terms with that when suddenly here he is again, living it up like some kinda courtesan. What the fuck? What the fuck!"

Tears trickled down her face.

Angel held her close and rocked her like a baby. By the time they'd got to a Angel's street she'd stopped crying and felt a bit more like herself.

"Wanna come in?"

"No thanks. I'm gonna go home and think. Thanks for being such a star. I owe you big time."

"Bullshit. You don't owe me nothing. You'd do the same for me. We're sisters."

"Sisters," said Raven and leant precariously out of the cab window to wave goodbye.

"Fuck off, bitch!" bellowed Angel.

"Screw you, thot!" hollered Raven.

She told the disapproving cabbie to take her to Westchester. She walked barefoot from the gates to the house. It was freezing, but she wasn't going to wear those fucking shoes for one more second. Those bastards were going to charity. She'd missed lunch so she swung by the staff kitchen and picked up some cold chicken, microwave popcorn, hot chocolate and a telling off from the cook.

"What kind of a balanced meal is that?"

"Protein, a vegetable and I'm pretty sure cocoa is a fruit."

Rosa tutted.

Raven carried her booty back to her room. She wolfed down the chicken, popped the corn in the microwave in her little kitchen and shovelled it into her face between sips of hot chocolate. She checked her phone. Logan had already emailed the gen. She scrolled through the photos of Charles. She kept going back to the ones of him and his boyfriend because he looked so happy. Should she email? Should she phone? What if he took fright and disappeared again?

That evening at dinner she announced:

"Sharon, I'm flying out to San Francisco tomorrow to visit an old friend."

*** * ***

Charles lay on his back watching Max who was sprawled on his stomach with his eyes closed.

"This is going to be the last time."

Max opened one eye.

"Surely I ain't that much of a boring fuck?"

"You're not a boring fuck at all. I'm giving up the escort business."

Max opened both eyes.

"Giving up? How come?"

"I've been selling myself for nigh on six years now. The last couple of years have been good, but I'm tired of it."

Max pushed up on his elbows.

"What ya gonna do instead?"

"Community college and then university. Genetics hopefully."

Max gave him a shrewd look.

"No other reason?"

"Are you psychic or what? There's a guy."

"Does he want you to stop?"

"Yes, but he never says anything about it. If I let slip anything to do with the job he tries to be cool, but he gets all tense and tightly wound. If I come home marked up - bites, bruises - he has to cover them with his own marks. He's never tried to persuade me to give up, but I know he'd be overjoyed if I did."

"Is he that guy from Budapest?"

Charles stared at Max.

"Fuck! You are telepathic."

"It's just, when I saw you together, even though you were giving him hell, there was this connection."

Charles smiled.

"Yes, you're right. I've never felt so close to anyone, except perhaps my sister. The best thing is just being with him; sitting on the sofa, watching crap tv or reading, quiet together. The sex is pretty damn fine too." He chuckled. "Not that we don't argue. He's got a temper and I'm stubborn. He hates my untidiness and, god, he's so picky. First time I've ever had makeup sex and, fuck, that shit's amazing."

"I'm happy for you, Charles. Can't say I won't miss you, because I will."

Charles rolled over so he was draped across Max's scarred, muscular back. He pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck and then rubbed his nose through his shock of white hair.

"How about one last go for old times' sake?"

"Mmm, sounds good to me."

Max shifted so he was face up. He reached down and slipped two fingers into Charles' hole, still stretched from their last session and sloppy with come.

"Hmm, touch more lube I think."

Charles grabbed it off the bedside table. Max pressed more into his hole, a lovely, slow slide of fingers, a leisurely curling and uncurling. Charles slathered some lube onto Max's rapidly hardening cock. He rubbed his own scarlet prick against Max's darker red erection. Silk over granite. Charles sat up, knees on either side of Max's hips and poised himself above his leaking prick. He took the head gently between thumb and forefinger and gave it a gentle squeeze. Max groaned. He gave the glans a scrape with his nails - Max swore - then sank down as slowly as he could.

"Oh, fuck, Charles, oh fuck."

He gave a little wriggle to get that extra quarter inch all the way in. God, he loved cock. He couldn't help wishing it was Erik's cock, but that wasn't fair to Max. This was in the nature of a farewell. Max had always been good to him and he owed him his full concentration. Banishing Erik and Erik's cock from his mind, he pushed up and sank down. He got a rhythm going, unhurried, deliberate.

"Oh, Charlie boy, you look like a young god, like a young Greek god come down to earth to fuck a mortal and I'm the blessed guy."

Max could get surprisingly poetic sometimes.

Charles kept impaling himself. Oh, the catch of the head on the rim of his hole. The way it popped in, then slid nice and easy, not much drag what with all that lube and come. He was feeling a little tender from the earlier fucking, so he was getting a pleasant burn going.

"Faster, Charlie, just a little faster."

Charles completely ignored Max. His thighs were burning and he was drenched in sweat. He changed the angle, nudging his prostate with every downward stroke. Drops of sweat, golden in the sunset light which streamed through the gap in the curtains, fell from his hair and torso onto Max's chest. His cock bounced gently against his belly, leaving trails of pre-come.

"C'mon, faster, Charlie."

Charles grinned, swooped down, nipped Max's throat, sat up, arched his back and squeezed his rectal muscles as hard as he could.

"I can keep this up all night, old man."

"Oh you cheeky lil shit."

Max surged up, flipped Charles onto his front, head down, ass up and knelt behind him. He thrust in, hard and fast, pushing Charles up the bed with every stroke.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," gasped Charles.

Max kept pumping. The angle and the friction were divine. Charles grabbed at the bedsheets and howled. Max moaned and shot his load, adding to the mess in Charles ass. Charles got a hand to his cock and, with a few quick tugs, came. They lay in a tangled, stinking, sweaty heap.

"You damn near gave me a heart attack," muttered Max.

"You gave me a concussion, bouncing my skull off the headboard," retorted Charles.

"It's padded."

"The headboard or my head?"

Max laughed. Charles giggled.

After they'd cleaned up and dressed, they hugged loads - hugging Max was like hugging a bear - and said goodbye.

"You know what I'll miss the most kid, even more than the fucking? The arguing. You are the most argumentative lil fucker I've ever met."

Charles smiled and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the nose. Max looked a little melancholy as he waved Charles off. Charles felt sorry to be saying goodbye, he'd miss Max, but truthfully he felt a soaring lightness of heart at the thought of leaving his old life behind and starting a new one.

A new life with Erik.

*** * ***

Erik was in a great mood. Even air travel didn't dent it. Charles had called the day before and told him he'd given up the escort job. Erik had done his best to be cool about it - even asking Charles if he was sure - but after he'd hung up he'd punched the air, yelled 'Yes!' and danced round his apartment like a madman.

He'd hated Charles being fucked by other men. Erik's soul shrivelled every time Charles mentioned his work. When he saw marks on Charles' perfect skin a terrible, dark tide would rise up inside him, hot and corrosive, and he'd want to kill every john who'd ever touched that sacred body. And now Charles had stopped. He was Erik's alone.

Erik spotted a flower shop from the cab. It had a display of white peonies. Charles loved peonies. He got the cabbie to stop and bought every peony in the shop. He smiled down at the flowers, imagining Charles' face when he saw them. They stopped outside Charles' building and Erik paid the cabbie, tipping him hugely. He couldn't wait for the elevator, instead he leapt up the stairs, two at a time, flowers in one hand, weekend bag in the other and a stupid grin on his face. He pushed open the door. The peonies fell from his hand and scattered over the floor in a constellation of creamy blooms. His bag hit the floor with a thump.

Entwined on the sofa, half sitting, half lying, were Charles and a lovely blond girl. They were gazing into each other's faces with absolute adoration. Charles had never looked at Erik like that. Her hands clasped his face. His fingers were twisted into her long, golden hair. Erik had known it was bound to happen. Charles wouldn't be satisfied with a man old enough to be his father for long. He was young and beautiful. So was the girl. Erik hadn't expected it to come so soon though. They hadn't even had a year together. A noise forced itself from his throat. A wounded animal noise. Charles looked up at him. His eyes shone with tears. No doubt he'd be kind to Erik. He'd explain everything so gently. Say it was him, not Erik. Say Erik would be better off without him, an ex-whore.

"Erik, Erik, it's Raven, it's my sister, Raven," said Charles, voice shaking.

For a moment Erik couldn't process what he'd heard.

Sister.

Sister?

Sister!

Charles stood, pulling the young woman, Raven, to her feet. He staggered over to Erik, as unsteady on his feet as a drunk.

"Erik, this is Raven. Raven! My sister! My sister, Raven! Raven, this is Erik, my boyfriend."

"Hi," said Raven, face guarded.

"Hi," said Erik.

Charles pushed the three of them together and wrapped his arms round them. Erik's right side was pressed up against Raven's left. Raven looked up at him and rolled her eyes. Erik let out a wild snort of laughter.

"Er, too much too soon, Charles. We've only just met."

Charles laughed and released them.

"Oh, Erik, we're standing on your lovely flowers. Peonies too. My favourites."

"Doesn't matter."

Charles knelt and started gathering up the fallen flowers.

"I think we can save most of them," said Charles.

Erik knelt beside him and started picking up peonies. Raven joined them. They carried the flowers to the kitchen, discarded the damaged ones and arranged the survivors in a vase, a measuring jug and the teapot.

"This is kinda surreal," said Raven.

"Yeah," said Erik.

"I mean, flower arranging wasn't really what I expected from a reunion with my long lost brother."

"It's supposed to be very calming," said Charles.

"Calming?" Raven glared at him. "Calming? Oh, yeah, I feel calm as fuck."

"Language. Nice to see you're as sarcastic as ever," said Charles, with an evil grin.

"Screw you, Xavier. Seriously though, we need to talk," she said.

Charles' grin faded.

"Yes, yes we do."

He shepherded them to the sofa. Erik shut the door which had been standing open this whole time. Charles sat in the middle, Raven and Erik on either side of him. He took hold of Erik's hand and put his arm round Raven's shoulder.

"God, Raven, to have you right here beside me, to see you, to touch you, to hear your voice, it's . . . it's everything to me. I'm so happy it hurts. I don't know what to say to you, how to act around you, it's all too much. You're, you're perfect, amazing, my sister, my Raven."

"I feel the same, like I don't know how to be, like everything's unreal and super-real all at once. I can't believe you're really here. After all these years. Just sitting there. Alive and well."

Charles let go of Erik's hand and dragged trembling fingers through his dark hair.

"I . . . I don't know what to say."

"'Sorry' might be a start."

Erik looked from one to the other. Something was going on here. Something he didn't understand.

"I am sorry. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you."

"No, you can't." Her voice was sharp.

Charles clutched Erik's hand again, painfully tight.

"I had my reasons."

"You had your reasons? You had your reasons for letting me think you were dead?"

Her voice was harsh with anger and pain.

She'd thought he was dead? Erik looked from one to the other. Charles looked wrecked. He tried to speak. Failed. Tried again. Failed.

"Charles, you have to tell me. I love you so much, so fucking much. When you opened that door I was overjoyed. But I'm angry too, I'm fucking furious and sad and you need to tell me why you did it, why you let me think you'd died in a car crash. I mean, fuck, Charles, I went to your funeral. Casket was empty of course because they couldn't find a body. They thought you'd dragged yourself into some crevice and died there or animals had got you. I used to have nightmares. I dreamt monsters were tearing you apart. I imagined you dying cold and alone and in pain. I love you, Charles, but I hate you too and you owe me an explanation."

Charles' fingernails were digging into Erik's hand so hard he'd drawn blood. Erik didn't care. He rested his other hand on the nape of Charles' neck, willing strength and love into him. Charles' face was pale, tear-stained and tense with resolution.

"You're right. I owe you an explanation."

He took a deep breath.


	16. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains child abuse and violence. The end notes give a brief summary of the action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a painful chapter to write and it's painful to read. Please be careful.

It was a week after Charles' twelfth birthday. Mother had bought him a signet ring (who buys a twelve year old a signet ring?) Raven had got him a biology book he'd been yearning after. They'd rowed out to the island in the lake, set off fireworks, built a bonfire, toasted marshmallows and drunk a whisky miniature, which neither of them had liked, but both had pretended to.

They were waiting outside the main drawing room; a huge, dark-wood panelled room, hung with pictures and mirrors, and used for special occasions. Raven shifted on her uncomfortable chair, swinging her feet and pulling at the collar of her white lace dress.

"It itches," she complained.

Charles shushed her. He sat still and quiet in his best suit, trying to hear what was being said. He could hear mother's voice and a man's deeper tones, but he couldn't work out what they were saying.

The door opened and Sharon beckoned them in. A man and a boy stood in front of the fireplace.

"Charles, Raven, this is Mr Kurt Marko and his son, Cain. Kurt is going to be your new father and Cain will be your big bother."

"How can he be our father?" said Raven.

"Kurt and I are going to be married," said Sharon.

She took Kurt's arm and smiled up at him. It wasn't quite the way she'd used to smile at Charles' father, but it was close.

"Come and say hello, children," said Sharon.

Charles stepped up and offered his hand as he'd been taught. Kurt took it in his massive paw. He was a tall, powerfully built man, with a red face and thinning sandy hair.

"What a well mannered boy. I'm honoured to become your father, Charles. I've heard you're a very smart young fellow and now I can see you're a handsome young man too."

"Thank you, sir."

Kurt's smile was warm, warmer than when he'd smiled at mother. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. Charles tried to crush the unexpected joy that surged through him at the thought of having a father again. He moved onto Cain, a hulking teenager, who squeezed his hand so hard the bones ground together. Raven did her curtsy, which was probably the worst curtsy in the history of curtsying. Mother frowned, but Marko smiled at her genially.

Kurt asked Charles a lot of questions about school, his friends and his interests. He seemed much more interested in Charles then Raven. Charles quashed a certain mean spirited satisfaction. People mostly gave Raven more attention as she was pretty as a picture. Charles was a bit odd looking, with his pale skin, sticking out ears, nose and eyes too big for his face, and excessively red lips.

"What do you think of them?" he asked Raven, after Kurt and Cain had driven off in a big, red car.

"That Cain's a jerk. He pinched my arm when the grown ups weren't looking. I dunno about Mr Marko. He might be okay. He sure seemed to like you."

"He liked you too, Raven. He said how pretty your dress was."

"He liked you better."

Charles shook his head, but felt a warmth in his chest.

They met the Marko's several more times before the wedding; at family lunches, informal get togethers of a few dozen people and a big, formal event, where Sharon presented her husband-to-be to the great and the good of New York society. Cain took every opportunity to pinch or hit them, particularly Charles, of whom he was obsessively jealous. Charles didn't care. Not when Kurt was so warm and kind, full of praise for everything Charles said and did.

The wedding was a huge affair. Anyone who was anyone was invited. There were three enormous marquees in the garden, mountains of flowers and rivers of champagne. Charles wore a dove grey suit and was the ring bearer. Raven was a bridesmaid, in a pale gold dress she hated. Sharon was elegant in a old gold gown. Raven had to sit at the children's table after the ceremony, which pissed her off, especially as Charles was on the high table.

In his speech, Kurt said how happy he was to be gaining not just a lovely wife, but two beautiful children as well. After dinner, Sharon was claimed by a coterie of high society ladies. Kurt moved down the table to sit next to Charles. 

"I mean it you know, about gaining two beautiful children. You're the sort of son I always wanted; clever, handsome and with a fine character. I feel a real connection to you, Charles. I know we've only known each other a short while, but I already feel like you're truly my boy, my son."

He put a meaty hand on Charles' thigh and squeezed.

"We're gonna have great times together, you and me. What do you think, Charles?"

"I hope we will, sir."

"No need to hope, I know it. And call me 'dad' or 'Kurt'."

"Dad," said Charles, voice tremulous with happiness.

Kurt ruffled his hair.

Even Cain cornering him and giving him an excruciating Chinese burn didn't dent his optimism.

Sharon and Kurt went off on a long honeymoon which seemed to take in the whole planet. Cain moved into the Westchester mansion. Charles and Raven soon got to be adept at avoiding him and he spent a lot of his time out with his friends anyway.

"I don't want to rot in this fucking mausoleum with you two freaks," he snarled.

"And we don't want you here in our home, you giant moron," retorted Raven.

They fled his vengeance, hiding in the attics.

"You shouldn't provoke him," said Charles.

They were curled up on a dusty, moth and mouse eaten chaise longue.

"He shouldn't be such a shit then, should he?"

"I must admit, he doesn't seem to have any redeeming features."

"I'd say he looks like a pig, but that's rude to pigs."

They snorted with laughter.

Sharon and Kurt returned from their honeymoon and Cain had to be more discreet in his attacks. Charles hadn't seen his mother so happy for years. Kurt had bought them presents; a sapphire pendent for Raven and a gold watch for Charles. Nothing for Cain. Charles wore his new watch and his father's battered, old, steel watch on alternate days.

"You're not wearing your watch, Charles," said Kurt.

"I wear it every other day. This is my father's watch."

"I'm your father now," said Kurt and put his hand on Charles' shoulder. "Wear it for me, son."

He gave Charles' shoulder a gentle squeeze and kissed the top of his head.

Charles wrapped his father's watch in a silk handkerchief, put it in an ebony box and hid it at the back of the bottom drawer of his dresser. Guilt fluttered in his gut, but Kurt was pleased and full of praise and his misgivings were swept away.

Kurt was affectionate with Charles, alway touching him; a gentle pat or a firmer squeeze or an arm draped negligently round his waist. One night Charles was changing for bed, stripping off his pants and shirt, tugging on his pyjama bottoms and wrestling into his top, when he had the feeling he wasn't alone. He turned. Kurt was leaning in the doorway, watching him.

"Thought I'd come and say goodnight."

He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him, and took Charles in his arms. He squeezed him tight.

"You're my best boy, Charles, my special boy, my favourite son."

He took Charles chin between forefinger and thumb, lifted his head and kissed him on the lips.

"A special kiss for my special boy. Goodnight, Charles."

He lifted Charles off the floor and hugged him extra close, then set him down and left with a wave goodbye.

Charles lay in bed, thinking about being special, thinking about being Kurt's favourite.

It became quite a routine, Kurt coming to hug and kiss him goodnight. Charles looked forward to it. He and Raven were constantly wrapped round each other, but there was something special about being hugged by a man, by his second father.

One night Kurt tucked Charles in and sat on the edge of the bed.

"You know, Charles, you're getting to the age when a father needs to have a talk with his son about sex. Now there's no need to blush. It's perfectly normal. I was wondering, have you had a wet dream yet?"

Charles shook his head.

"You know what one is? When your cock gets all hard and excited in your sleep and you come?"

Charles nodded.

"Do you and your friends ever compare sizes or play around with each other? Don't be embarassed, Charles, it's locker room stuff, every guy does it. Hell, I did it when I was young."

Charles hesitated. Kurt gave him an encouraging look.

"I . . . I watched a couple of boys jerk each other off once. They didn't know I was there."

"There, you see, told you everybody does it. I still do it with the guys at the gym sometimes."

Charles had recently come to realise that when he thought about sex, he thought about boys, not girls. The revelation that Kurt did that kind of thing was startling, but comforting.

"You . . . jerk off with other guys?"

"Yeah, sure, nothing wrong with a bit of experimentation. And it's not like being disloyal to your mother with another woman. It's just fooling around. A lots of dad's do it with their sons, to help them understand what sex is about."

Charles eyes widened.

"They do it with their sons?"

"Yes. I bet half the boys in your class are doing it with their fathers."

Charles' head spun.

"Do you do it with . . . with Cain?"

Kurt scoffed.

"Cain? That great, dumb lump? No, hell no. I'd like to do it with you, Charles. Help you grow and develop and understand what it is to be a man."

"With me?"

"Yeah. You see, you're special to me. My special boy. And I'd like to be special to you. I'd like to be your first. I love you so much, Charles. I want to help you, to make you happy, to give you pleasure."

Charles didn't know what to say. Kurt was looking at him with such love and admiration. And if everyone did it, would Charles be weird if he didn't?

"We don't have to do anything tonight. I'll show you how a grown man does it."

Kurt unzipped his pants and got out his cock. It was fat and purple and veiny. Charles was both repulsed and unwillingly fascinated. Kurt spat in his hand and started stroking himself.

"See, Charles, see how it's getting hard? God, that's good. Ah, yeah, watch me Charles, watch me jerk off. I love you, Charles, I love you so much, much more than Cain, more than Sharon, you're my best boy, you're . . . oh, that's good, that's so good, you're gonna love it when I do it to you."

He wrapped his arm round Charles' shoulder and pulled him close. The back of his hand brushed against Charles' belly through his pyjama top. His breath was hot on Charles' cheek. He worked his hand ever faster. Charles couldn't look away from his erection and the drop of pre-come at the slit.

"That's it, that's it, oh, Charles, I'm so close, so soon, it's being near you, you're so special, so beautiful, my Charles, my boy."

He grunted. Flecks of spittle spattered Charles' cheek. Kurt shot his load over Charles' PJs. There was so much of it, way more than Charles had ever managed to produce, and it was so hot and wet. Kurt's head slumped onto Charles' shoulder and he breathed heavily into his neck. Charles was disgusted and aroused and confused.

Kurt sat up.

"Oh, Charles, I've made a mess of your PJs. Let me clean you up."

He got a damp wash cloth from the bathroom and dabbed away at Charles' front.

"You okay, Charles?"

Charles nodded.

"Not scared?"

Charles was a little scared, but didn't want to admit it. He shook his head.

"That's my brave boy. You know, Charles, I think you're the perfect son. Your daddy would be so proud if he could see you now. I'm proud of you. Prouder than I've ever been of anyone. Well, I guess I'd better let you get off to sleep. School in the morning and all that."

He kissed Charles' cheek and went to the door. He paused with his fingers on the handle.

"By the way, this is guy stuff, Charles, don't mention it to your mom or Raven. I mean, they know this goes on, of course they do, in fact your mom asked me to start teaching you, but you don't talk about it with the ladies, see? Or any one else. It's private, between you and me, our special thing because you're the specialist boy in the whole world and I love you."

"I won't say anything to anyone."

Kurt gave him a loving smile.

"Good boy. Goodnight."

Charles lay awake for hours thinking about what had happened. He knew boys did this sort of stuff and he'd seen porn of men doing it and a whole lot more. It sort of made sense. He hadn't exactly liked what Kurt did, but he'd got hard. The best thing had been how pleased Kurt was and all the praise he'd lavished on Charles. It was strange and new and there were some things he didn't like about it and some things he did. Growing up was weird.

Every night Kurt taught him more. He got Charles to jerk off in front of him. The first few times Charles couldn't manage anything, but then he'd come and Kurt had been full of encouragement and told him he was a real man now. Gradually they did more and more. Kurt touched him. Charles touched Kurt. Months passed and he wasn't just touching Kurt with his hand. Every now and then Charles got panicked and had this feeling that something was terribly wrong, but Kurt would always back off and stop and be kind and gentle. He wouldn't even try to coax Charles back into doing whatever had upset him, but Charles would get the impression that Kurt was disappointed in him and he adored Kurt and couldn't bear to think Kurt wasn't proud of him, so he'd grit his teeth and do it and Kurt would be overcome with pride and say all the things Charles loved to hear.

Charles felt as though he was living two separate lives. In one life he went to school and Sharon sniped at him for his bad manners and Cain beat him up and he and Raven did fun, stupid things and got into trouble and he and his nerd friends studied hard. In the other life, the hours before sleep, the life lived in darkness and half-light, he and Kurt did special things that sometimes hurt - the first time Kurt put his finger up his ass it had hurt - and sometimes felt good - when Kurt massaged that place inside him - and always had to be kept secret. He knew Kurt loved him and he loved Kurt, but more and more he wished Kurt could love him like he'd used to, before the secret things started.

Doubts formed like distant clouds on the horizon. Kurt showed him videos of men doing stuff with boys. He'd get Charles to copy the action. Except sometimes the boys looked like they didn't want to do what they were doing. Sometimes they screamed and cried.

"That's because they're not real men, not like you, Charles. They're cowards, you're brave," whispered Kurt and kissed him long and deep.

He didn't know that sometimes Charles wanted to scream and cry.

Kurt fucked him on his thirteenth birthday. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Charles begged Kurt to stop, but, for once, he didn't. He cleaned Charles up and was exceedingly gentle with him afterwards.

"I'm sorry, Charles, but it was time. Your coming of age. Your initiation into manhood. We all go through it. I did with my dad. If your father was alive, he'd have done it for you. It'll get better, believe me, you'll end up loving it."

When Kurt had gone, Charles thought about what he'd said. Would Brian have fucked his son? Charles tried to imagine him doing what Kurt had done. He couldn't. That sweet, kind man would never have done it. Kurt was a liar. What else had he lied about?

It did get better and most of the time Charles came, but now the lie was between them and sometimes, no matter what Kurt said, he felt ashamed and humiliated.

Charles was getting on for fourteen when there was a big scandal at school. One of the girls in Charles' class was pulled out of school and her father was arrested.

"Anyone know what he did?" asked Charles.

Hank and Sean looked at each other. It was Alex who said:

"Her dad was doing her. He'd been doing it since she was a little kid, the sick bastard."

"Doing her?" said Charles.

His voice sounded strange and echoey in his ears.

"You know, fucking her, the dirty pedo," whispered Alex.

Charles felt as though he wasn't in his body anymore. This had happened to him before, usually when he was with Kurt.

"I guess it wouldn't be so bad if she was a boy?" he heard himself say.

All three stared at him.

"Of course it would be just as bad," said Hank.

Somehow Charles got through the rest of the day, floating above his body like a loosely tethered balloon. When he got home he ditched Raven, climbed into the attics and then onto the roof. He sat on the sun warmed lead work between the two pitches and sobbed. He'd known. He'd known for ages, years maybe, but he'd been so desperate for a father's love he'd blocked it out and taken what he was given. All those messages at school, on-line and on tv he'd determinedly ignored. He wept and bounced his head off the tiles and clawed at his face. Kurt didn't love him. Kurt loved fucking him. He'd used Charles' burning need for a father figure to betray and abuse him. Charles wailed like a hurt animal, mourning the loss of love and trust. It was dark and cold when he came in. He'd missed dinner. He went to his bedroom. Kurt was waiting for him.

"Charles, are you alright? What happened?"

He tried to take Charles in his arms. Charles pushed him off.

"I got into a fight at school, plus I've got some type of gastric thing. I've been puking and shitting all day. Better stay away if you don't want to catch it."

Kurt looked genuinely distressed, probably because he knew he wouldn't be getting any.

"Oh, Charles, I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything?"

"No. I just need to sleep."

"My poor boy. Hopefully you'll feel better in the morning. Sleep well."

He closed the door behind him, giving Charles a last tender look.

Charles threw himself on the bed. Something was building in him. Forcing itself up from deep inside. Dark. Corrosive. Burning. He shook with anger. He sobbed again, this time with rage.

"Bastard," he whispered, "filthy, lying, dirty, pedo bastard. I hate him. I hate him, I fucking hate him. I wish he'd die, I wish I could kill him, slowly, torture that fucker to death."

From then on he avoided Kurt as much as possible. He made sure he was always with Sharon or Raven or even Cain, though that earned him some scars. He had friends come and stay and share his bedroom. He put a lock on his door. Only . . . only sometimes he was weak. Kurt would do or say exactly the right thing and Charles would let him do whatever he wanted just to be held, just to be told he was loved and needed, just to come with words of praise whispered in his ear. He'd be furious with himself afterwards, sick with shame and self loathing. He'd avoid Kurt like the plague for weeks, but he was used to regular sex and jerking off wouldn't cut it and he'd end up on all fours with Kurt pounding him into the mattress. More shame and self-hate. Fooling around with boys at school helped with the need for sex and when Mateus fell for him, and turned out to be quite the romantic, that helped with the desire for adoration. It got easier and easier to stay away from Kurt. It never occurred to Charles to report him, whether out of some vestigial affection or fear of the consequences he didn't know.

A couple of weeks after his fifteenth birthday, Kurt suggested the two of them go away for a 'hunting weekend'.

"We've had so little time alone lately. It would be great to be just the two of of us, in a nice, cozy cabin."

He draped a heavy arm across Charles' shoulder. Charles pushed him off and looked at him with a cold, critical eye.

"I'm not doing this any more."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not letting you fuck me anymore."

Kurt's face hardened. Charles felt a flicker of fear. Kurt looked like that when he gave Cain a good beating. Kurt's expression softened.

"But Charles, it's not just fucking. I love you and you love me."

"You don't love me. You love fucking children. You're a pedophile. And I don't love you. I did, but you killed that love by abusing me."

God, he'd finally said it. It felt wonderful. Freeing.

Kurt smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

"That's not what you said when your ankles were up by my ears and I was reaming you out like a $10 rent-boy."

Charles smiled back at him, icily contemptuous.

"We're all weak sometimes and that was one of those times. I don't need you anymore. I don't want you. I've got a boyfriend, a young, beautiful boyfriend, not a fat, old fuck like you."

He was delighted by the shock on Kurt's face. Shock seceded by anger. For a moment he thought Kurt was going to punch him. Then Kurt smiled a truly dangerous smile.

"Okay, Charles, if that's what you want, fine."

It couldn't be that easy, could it?

"You grown into a fine young man, Charles. You know your own mind and I respect that. You know who else has turned out just fine? Raven. I never thought she'd amount to much with that round face and those chubby legs, but she's become a real beauty. Yes, sir, a real beauty."

He smiled at Charles, smiled and smiled.

Charles was losing contact with his body. Everything was small and far away, even Kurt. A distant voice said:

"I've changed my mind."

"Are you sure, Charles? You seemed pretty definite."

"I'm sure," said the small, faraway voice.

Someone put his hand on Kurt's crotch and rubbed his cock through the fabric of his pants. Charles watched it from a great distance. Kurt put his hand over Charles' and squeezed until his bones cracked. It hurt, but Charles was floating so it didn't matter.

"What about all those things you said? All those cruel things?"

"I'm a teenager. I was acting out. Testing you. Of course I love you and I know you love me. I don't have a boyfriend. I only have you."

Like looking through the wrong end of a telescope, Charles saw his body kneel, free Kurt's cock from his pants and swallow it down. He watched with vague interest as Kurt twisted his fingers into Charles' hair and jerked his hips, making him choke. He watched his dark head bobbing, saw red lips lick and suck, heard Kurt grunt and saw Charles gulp down gouts of come. When he came back to himself, Kurt was gone and he was throwing up in the bathroom.

The anger that had awoken in him didn't go away. He told Sharon to go fuck herself, quarrelled with Raven about some stupid tv programme and when Cain tried to beat him up fought back with such reckless ferocity his step-brother backed down.

All too quickly it was time to go on the 'hunting weekend'. He apologised to Raven for bring an arsehole and hugged her goodbye. The further Kurt drove, the smaller and quieter the roads got. Charles hadn't seen another car for ages. It was fall and the headlights picked out flashes of gold and yellow leaves amid the darkness. Kurt was droning on about something so Charles put his earbuds in and played his music. He was going off into a trance when the earbuds were jerked out of his ears.

"Not in company," said Kurt.

"Company? There's only you."

"That's exactly the point. We're supposed to be having some quality time together."

"Quality time?" sneered Charles. "More like quality fucking."

He pushed the earbuds in again. Kurt tugged them out.

"What the fuck?"

"Do that again and I'll smash your phone," said Kurt with a pleasant smile.

Slowly, deliberately, Charles put the earbuds back in. Kurt grabbed his phone and smashed it against the dashboard, once, twice, three times. Rage surged through Charles, boiling in his veins, making his hands shake and his eyes cloud. Rage at the destroyed phone. Rage at his destroyed trust and hope and love and innocence. He grabbed the steering wheel and hauled it down as hard as he could.

"Fuck," bellowed Kurt and tried to drag Charles' hands off the wheel.

Charles hung on for grim death. Kurt braked. The Range Rover slid on the wet, fallen leaves, careered off the road, across some grass, burst through a line of bushes and smashed into a tree. The noise was tremendous. Charles' seatbelt pinned him down and the airbag exploded into his face. There were sounds of breaking metal and glass and wood, which faded into silence. Charles blinked and stared around him. His side of the car was relatively undamaged. His chest hurt where the seatbelt had gripped him and his face stung from the airbag, but apart from that he seemed to be okay. The driver's side was twisted into a mangled, confused mess from crashing into the tree. Kurt looked like hell. There was blood on his face and his legs were all mixed up with the contorted metal of the car and pulverised tree branches.

Charles unbuckled his seatbelt, opened his door - with some difficulty - and fell onto the wet grass and decaying leaves. He lay on his face and just breathed for a time. The night air was cold. He got up and staggered round to Kurt's side. Kurt had managed to get out, but he couldn't walk. He was dragging himself away from the car. At first Charles didn't understand why, then he noticed the small flames dancing brightly underneath the car.

"Help me," gasped Kurt.

Charles could see white bone sticking out from messes of flesh and blood on Kurt's legs. He looked down at the man he'd once loved as a second father. He bent, got his arms under Kurt's armpits and heaved. Fuck, he was heavy. He heaved again, fired by hate and despair. Slowly he dragged Kurt.

Towards the car.

When Kurt realised what he was doing he moaned:

"No, please, Charles, please, oh god, no."

He scrabbled feebly at Charles' hands. Charles kept grimly on. The flames were taller now, licking up the side of the car with tongues of blue and orange. Charles jammed Kurt into his seat. It took every ounce of strength he had, but, driven by an anger as bright as the flames, he managed it. He belted Kurt in and slammed shut what was left of the distorted door.

"Charles, my boy, my son, no, no, no," sobbed Kurt.

"I'm not your boy and I'm not your son."

Kurt beat at the broken glass with twisted, bloody hands. The flames gave a sudden spurt. Charles stepped back. The crackling of the fire turned into a hungry roar. Kurt was screaming now, but Charles couldn't hear him over the furious voice of the fire. He watched as Kurt's hair and clothes ignited. He watched as his struggles ceased. He watched as his skin blackened and split. The smell, oh god, the smell. He turned away, walked a few steps and sank down on the grass. The flames were warm on his back as the fire shouted its joy to the sky.

What now?

Home.

Home to Raven.

Except . . . he'd murdered Kurt. They could do incredible things with forensics nowadays. What if they worked out what he'd done? He imagined himself in a dark interview room, the single light dazzling his eyes and an angry cop accusing him:

"We know what you did. You dragged him back to the car and you watched him burn. You're gulity, Xavier, guilty as sin. Confess and the judge might go easy on you."

And even if he fooled the police, Cain would be suspicious. He'd revel in beating the truth out of Charles. Sharon. What about Sharon? As much as she was capable of loving anyone, she loved Kurt. How could he face her knowing he'd killed her husband? And his lovely Raven. Didn't she deserve better than a murderer for a big brother?

The fire was quieter now, dying down, nosing among the blackened ruins looking for something to burn and not finding it. The warmth at his back was fading.

The chill was inside him now. What if they found out not just that Charles was a murderer, but what Kurt had done to him and the things, the filthy, dirty, sick things Charles had done. They'd all know how disgusting he was. His shame, his humiliation would be an open book for everyone to read and recoil from in horror. No, they couldn't know, not Sharon, not his friends and, oh god, not Raven, never Raven. He had to disappear.

He started walking, the glow of the fire fading behind him. His chest hurt. His face hurt. It was cold. After a while it started drizzling. He was soaked. He ducked into the trees when he spotted the lights of the occasional car. Eventually he came to a truck stop. There was a pick-up with 'NYC Landscaping - Greening the Big Apple' on the side. He climbed in under the tarpaulin. The back was full of plants in pots. It smelt green and fresh and earthy. There were some more tarpaulins all neatly folded up. He wrapped himself in them.

At least Raven would be safe. Kurt would never touch her.

The truck started up, jerking him awake. He must have drifted off. Off they drove, the landscapers and their unknown passenger. After a while he could hear the noises of the city. The pick-up stopped. He heard the driver get out and walk round to the back. The tarpaulin was pulled back and Charles found himself gazing into the startled face of a middle aged man in overalls. He leapt out of the truck and took off.

"Hey, kid, it's okay, don't run, let me help," the man called after him.

Charles ran ever faster.

Two days later he was sucking off a guy behind a diner.

"Here's forty bucks. That's twice what I usually pay, but you're so sweet and pretty and such a good little cocksucker that you deserve it."

The man stroked his cheek.

The praise was sickeningly, addictively familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt sexually abuses Charles under the guise of being a loving father. Charles finally sees through Kurt's lies and refuses to carry on. Kurt threatens Raven. Charles capitulates. Kurt is driving Charles away for the weekend. Charles grabs the steering wheel and causes the car to crash. He's unhurt, but Kurt is badly injured. Charles drags Kurt back to the burning car and watches him burn. Terrified of being caught and of his secrets coming out, Charles flees to the city. We leave him with his first trick.


End file.
